


dirty laundry looks good on you

by tomlinvelvet



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Banter, Bottom Louis, Calanthe the Cat, Car Accident, Cerberus the Dog - Freeform, Dating, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hate Sex, I want to repeat something, Jealous Harry, Laundry, Louis in Panties, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rimming, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Top Harry, a bit of spit kink, a lovely brat though, also feminine louis, and it is that Louis is a brat, as for the pining... they're idiots, because yes we're here for it, bratty louis, commitment issues, harry cooks for louis, he wears mascara and he's the prettiest, injured animals, the Harry Potter references were not on purpose omg, this is 50k of rom-com, this is an actual tag lmao, zouis friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomlinvelvet/pseuds/tomlinvelvet
Summary: When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).OR; the utility room is a great place to fall in love.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 79
Kudos: 460
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020





	dirty laundry looks good on you

**Author's Note:**

> **hello; thank you for clicking on this fic! I hope you will like it! I'd like to say it's pretty different from my usual fics, the writing is more light, a bit less descriptive, and there's way more dialogue than usual, but regardless it was fun to explore this cute little prompt! I really tried writing more dialogues which is an area where I need to improve.  
>  It was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020. Many thanks to the mods for hosting the fest in the first place; it remains my favourite!!! Thank you so much [Ris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsegoodnight/pseuds/falsegoodnight) who agreed to beta for me, I’m so so so grateful for it!  
> — Prompt 299: Enemies to Lovers AU: Where Harry took Louis’ clothes out of the washers to wash his and Louis leaves him a little message “The person who stopped the washer in the middle of my wash cycle and took my clothes out just to wash yours YEAH YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE . Unfortunately for you, so am I. You can find your wet clothes frozen outside in the snow. Any problems? Come see me in 301.” (Prompt Inspiration: A meme)**

[dirty laundry looks good on you — fic post.](https://tomlinvelvetfics.tumblr.com/post/639502600069316609/dirty-laundry-looks-good-on-you-50k)

The frosted sunlight barely filters through the double lawyers of the clouds and his foggy window, struggling to even impose its presence, reduced to being only a ghost of what it has been during summer, when it warmed up anything it touched and encountered. Louis is poised in front of his blank canvas, paint brush trapped delicately in between his rose petal lips, and as much as he tries to picture what he wants to project on the blank surface before him, he can’t. The occasional sound of snow popping down on his roof, then sliding off to the edge until it falls down in the shape of drops of water doesn’t even soothe his mood. His toes that curl into his wool carpet are starting to get frostbite, because he’s stubborn and doesn’t want to walk around his flat in shoes or socks, not when he’s taken to staying barefoot most of the time. And to top it all off, the heater broke down exactly eight hours ago and Louis hasn’t gotten around to calling a specialist to sort the problem out, and it’s his fault, sure, but he doesn’t want to take responsibility for that.

He knows for a fact he’ll have to fight with his landlord to have it repaired free of charges, and he’s not in the right state of mind for that. The least worst thing he might do is punch the next person that walks through his door… and the worst, well. There will be a coffin involved.

Winter has come, and Louis hates it. 

He hates to have to wear several layers of clothes on him, hates having to close himself in to not get cold (even with the heater on - the heater that’s not an option right now, which makes it all a hundred times worse), and he generally hates how much his skin goes dry because of the icy wind. Despite how beautiful the snow-kissed landscape might be, he just can’t bring himself to not focus on the cons of the weather. Him being a Christmas Eve baby and all that doesn't even make his plight any more bearable. 

“I hate this fucking weather,” is the first thing he says in the compact black device he calls his phone. He’s not even talking, but rather whining as he leans against the fluffy mess of pillows on his couch. 

No one answers. He should really get better friends.

“Zayn?” Louis snaps, looking out the window bitterly and into the falling snow. He’s half sure the moment he steps out he’s going to fall down the wet flight of stairs and break his neck.

“Yeah?” someone startles into the phone, and Louis hears fumbling and curses, before Zayn finally settles down. He’s playing video games, Louis knows it, seeing as Zayn lives and breathes them, and his latest obsessions are _Cyberpunk 2077_ and _Death Stranding._ Something about Norman Reedus. He can hear gunshots and odd static sounds that vaguely make him think of electric cars. Death Stranding it is, then. Louis looks at his short, bitten nails and waits (more or less patiently) for his friend to finally acknowledge his existence. 

Perhaps he should put up a Craigslist post. Something along the line of, _looking for a friend that listens and dedicates their spare time to me, and me_ _only!_ _In dire need of a friend that cares about the internal crises I go through everyday!_

“Hi Louis, what’s up?” Zayn finally says, then, right after, he’s shouting. “You stupid shit! Louis, can you believe that fucker stole my cargo?”

“No,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe your cargo, whatever that shit is, got stolen. Now, can you focus on the issue at hand?”

“Everything’s alright?” Zayn sounds somewhat worried, which satisfies Louis, who starts speaking while putting the tip of his fringe behind his ear. It doesn’t really want to stay there, though, so he stands up, groaning as his toes leave the safety of the carpet for the cold tiles, and makes a dash for his bedroom. There’s a jewel purple box waiting for him, which he throws open to seek out a hair clip. He finds one at the very bottom, and tucking his phone between his ear and his shoulder, he pins his fringe back.

“You still here?” he drawls into the phone, letting out a shriek as he stubs his little toe.

“Sure,” Zayn replies. “Do I need to call the police? Why did you scream like that?”

Louis hangs up.

 _“Shit fucking fuck,”_ he mutters, trying to keep the tears from falling out. His cute little toe hurts so _bad,_ he’s not even sure it’s normal. He sits down and starts to massage it with his thumb and forefinger, looking up at the bare ceiling and cursing whoever’s up there for making his life so unbearably shitty.

It’s so bloody cold, and he’s in pain. Two things he hates. He fumbles around for his phone, never once taking his eyes off the heavens above, and when he finds it he opens the camera and snaps a selfie of himself. Of course, he makes sure to blink purposely hard before so the tears fall down, and at any other time he would have slapped his cheeks to bring a bit of colour to them, but the cold does the job for him as it bites as his unblemished skin. He looks positively miserable when he pouts as he snaps the photo, and he sends it with a smile, adding along with it a comment that emphasizes his predicament. _I’m cold and hurt._ There, quick and effective.

He doesn’t see his mistake until it’s too late.

There, on the corner of the selfie, can be seen the pile of dirty clothes that Louis is too lazy to bring down to the laundry room. Who has time for that? Surely not him. And as expected, it’s the only thing Zayn focuses on, not on Louis’ adorable pouty face and surely not on the tears.

_pls go wash ur clothes, you dirty brat_

Louis openly scoffs as he reads the text, angrily typing a reply back.

**I’m cold and hungry and hurt, and this is how you treat me?**

_wash them clothes and i’ll order chinese for u_

Louis’ thumbs hover over the digital keyboard, thinking about the offer. Having food delivered at his door, without him having to open his purse or move from his flat? It sounds perfect, especially seeing as he isn’t feeling like cooking and he has unfortunately made his way through his stock of instant noodles.

**Deal! I want a box of fried wontons, cashew shrimp stir-fry and vegetable Lo Mein. Thanks!**

_I want proof in thirty minutes that your clothes are in a washing machine, or else no food for u_

When Louis moved from the tiny town of Doncaster to the big city of London, it was to find better study opportunities, and also, though he doesn’t like to admit it, to escape his overbearing mother. He has no idea of how to feel about the fact that he’s found another mother hen in his best friend. Sighing, he puts his phone in his pyjama bottom’s back pocket, and eyes the mess of dirty clothes in distaste.

Grabbing a straw basket, he throws the clothes in it while _Skegss_ croons in the background, and tries his hardest not to give it all up when the moment he opens his door, cold air slaps him in the face.

  
  


-

  
  


Louis knows how to work a washing machine, alright, even if he’s done it a total of two times in his whole life. Usually, Zayn comes down at his flat and does it for him, because Zayn is an angel and loves helping him out as much as possible, but the black-haired geek hasn’t been able to come around for two weeks now due to his busy schedule as a video game developer, and as a result... Well, two weeks of dirty clothes piled up in the only empty corner of his bedroom.

There’s no one in the utility room, which he is glad for as he’s not even properly dressed. He’s still in pyjamas, and he’s shivering from the cold. He regrets not throwing on a coat, because the thin tank top he has on does nothing to help him get warm. However, it looks cute on him and he isn’t willing to let some bad weather prevent him from wearing what he loves. With a huff, he drops the basket next to the nearest empty washing machine (and the only one that isn’t occupied, he notices, after glancing around the room). Then, placing his hands on the small of his back, he thrusts his hips forwards while pressing down, moaning in pleasure when his back cracks satisfyingly. He had not realized how much clothes needed to be washed until he had to carry out the heavy basket. 

Louis looks down at the machine and its various buttons. There’s a big one that rotates, and there are numbers all around it and words such as _delicate/silk, synthetic, monsoon_ (what the fuck is that?) or even _drum clean_ which he’s not sure about, since the little logo next to it doesn’t make much sense even though its purpose is to make everything easier to understand. Clicking his tongue, he glances at the clothes waiting for him. There are pretty pairs of jeans, crop tops, tank tops, sweaters, tee-shirts, several skirts, underwear and socks. He shrugs and decides to turn the button on ‘delicate/silk’, because that sounds like him, and he selects a temperature that he _thinks_ won’t burn the fabrics. 

Something flashes red, and narrowing his eyes at the logo, Louis thinks it looks like soap. There are no bottles of laundry detergent anywhere, though. And he’s not sure he owns any, and if he does, he has no idea of where it is, seeing as it’s Zayn who uses it most of (not to say all of) the time. 

So he does the only thing he can think of; he runs back to his flat, tripping only twice and not falling (a fit, really), and grabs the dish liquid. It must work the same, right? He knows it does, soap is soap. He digs his toes in his ladybug slippers as he goes back down the stairs, and once at the machine, he opens the little trap that’s next to the red light and pours in a good amount of dish liquid.

He balls up the clothes and thrusts them inside the hole, and with a flick of his wrist snaps the washing machine’s door closed, then he pushes the _start_ button with a smile. Instantly there’s a loud purr that ricochets around him, then the clothes are spinning. He fishes his phone out and turns on the camera, recording a bit of the process with a self-satisfied smirk. Then before he ends the video, he puts his middle finger in front of the camera, for good measures, and he sends it off to Zayn. His stomach growls as he thinks of the delicious food he’s been promised.

He only gets a thumbs-up from Zayn. Not even a single praise for all the troubles he’s gone through. What an asshole. 

Louis copy/pastes his chinese order and sends it again, just to make sure that Zayn has it memorized and ready to be delivered at Louis’ awesome flowery doormat that says in bold letters, _'_ _shoes off fuckers’._

  
  


-

  
  


Louis is stuffing his mouth with the last of the crispy wontons when he remembers to check on the clothes. He wipes his fingers on a napkin and grabs the remote control, pausing just as Chandler stands up to try and show Joey how to smoke. He throws the empty, greasy box on the coffee table and gets up, slipping his feet into his slippers and throwing open his door.

The sun has progressed down past the horizon line, and it’s night now. Thankfully, the shitty lighting of the building is on, so Louis doesn’t have to go look for the light switch and only has to focus on not falling. The steps are slightly wet from the damp boots of the people that inhabit the building, and he quite regrets coming out with his lovely slippers if it means for their bottoms to get dirtied by mud. But in the end he shrugs it off and jogs to the laundry room, blinking in surprise when he spots an old lady dressed in a pink dress. She’s standing next to a washing machine, reading a novel that Louis is a hundred percent sure is erotica. She doesn’t even look up, so Louis ignores her and goes to his washing machine.

Except… except things don’t look the way they should look. The first thing Louis notices is his bright pink crop top, that still has spots of bubbles sticking to its fabric. It lies among all of his clothes, actually, and all of them are dripping soapy water and are filled with bubbles. The second thing that catches his eyes, which is when Louis starts to realize that something’s _definitely_ wrong, is that his clothes aren’t _in_ the washing machine, but rather, _on_ it. Widening his eyes, he rushes to them and his mouth drops open. These are _his_ clothes that he put _in_ the machine earlier and they’re just… lying in a sad mess of wet chaos. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, it’s then that the swooshing and occasional bangs of the machine reach his ears, which means that the machine is still on and working, and when Louis bends down and looks inside, there are clothes in it, but they’re not his.

Someone had the audacity to take _his_ clothes out mid-cycle and put their own in instead.

He is so speechless that he stays rooted to the spot for several minutes, until a voice breaks through his stupor. It’s a rough, feminine voice. The old lady is looking at him from underneath her yellow glasses.

“You alright, boy? You look a bit too red. Do you have a fever? I make an amazing verbal tea.”

Louis clears his throat and smiles, though it probably looks fake and tight. “No, ma’am, I’m alright, thank you. Though may I ask whether you’ve seen anyone take my clothes out of the machine to put theirs?”

She ponders the question for several seconds, then finally shakes her head. “No, son.”

He pointedly doesn’t eye her book; with how focused on it she was when he entered the room, it’s no wonder she didn’t notice anything. 

Outside, through the window, Louis can see it’s snowing. The snow has covered every inch of landscape, and is bunching up on the window still. He glances back at the washing machine, feeling anger burns within him like steaming hot molten lava, and he decides to snap back. He can’t allow such a thing to happen without consequences, it’s just too disrespectful. He marches out of the laundry room to his flat, and picks up a block of post-it, a pen, and goes back to his sad-looking clothes. There though, he pauses, a frown on his face; his initial plan is to leave a dirty note, showing off the extent of his wrath, but. It doesn’t seem to be enough.

Pocketing the post-its and the pen, Louis slaps his hand down on the stop button. The sound coming from the machine slowly, but surely, dies down, which sounds like music to his ears. The moment the big tube inside stops spinning, Louis opens the washing machine door and gathers in his arms the wet clothes. He grimaces as the water seeps into his own clothes, and _Jesus,_ there’s so many clothes that he has trouble keeping them all in his arms, but he manages to do it. He feels the old lady’s eyes on his back as he walks away towards the main entrance. 

Louis almost passes out when the cold air hits him, and with the water dripping down his arms, it’s worse than usual. But he pushes through the discomfort and uncaringly dumps the clothes among the white hardened clouds. Usually, he doesn’t linger in the cold, but right now he wants to enjoy the way the water on the fabrics starts to harden already. It’s the cherry on top when he spots a horrendous Gucci shirt.

Smirking to himself, he goes back to his clothes. Wordlessly, he puts them in the machine and turns on a quick cleaning, just to get the soap out of them, then he activates the drying option. In less than ten minutes, his clothes smell great and are dry. He throws them in the basket that he purposely left next to the machine, then takes a post-it and the pen.

For a moment, he ponders what he’s going to say. He knows whoever did this is a neighbor, someone who lives in the same building as him, and as much as he prides himself for being a great neighbor, nice and always ready to be helpful, he figures that for once he can throw caution out of the window. ‘Love thy neighbor,’ his ass. He’s not going to let this go unnoticed. He uncaps the pen with his mouth and starts to write. 

**To the person who stopped the washer in the middle of my wash cycle and took my clothes out just to wash yours** **_YEAH YOU’RE AN_ ** **_ASSHOLE!_ ** **Unfortunately for you, so am I. You can find your wet clothes frozen outside in the snow. Any problems? Come see me in 301.**

Louis doesn’t bother signing it. He sticks it to the washing machine, smiles to himself in triumph, winks at the old lady who’s narrowing her eyes at him, and then grabs his basket and storms out of the utility room and back to his flat. 

The first thing he does once he’s through the door is to throw the basket to the side, clean clothes be damned, and calls Zayn.

“You won’t _believe_ what just happened.”

  
  


-

  
  


He doesn’t hear about the asshole who took his clothes out of the washer until three days later. He’s been down at the grocery shop to buy instant noodles, except there were only chicken flavoured ones, which he doesn’t like. In the end he’s decided to buy several pints of ice cream, way too many chocolate bars, a packet of frozen green vegetables (to act healthy), and other things that he doesn’t need. The whole reason for those is quite simple; Louis hates going to the grocery store and coming out of it empty-handed, because he flatly refuses to have made the journey from his place to there for nothing. He huffs and drags the bag behind him as he goes up the stairs, twirling his key around his index finger.

He’s fully prepared to meet his bland-looking door, but instead of that, he comes face to face with a six-feet tall man who is leaning against said door, arms crossed over his chest and biceps bulging deliciously. The man has got short, curly hair that’s slightly longer on the top, and even from where Louis stands, they look soft, shining under the light of the day. His jaw is sharp, his nose straight, and Louis can tell the man’s painfully attractive.

Louis can be cute. He can flutter his eyelashes and sway his hips and make that man who happens to be exactly his type a drooling mess, but, well, Louis’ feet hurt from walking and he wants a cuppa and lounges on his sofa while watching _Skins._ It’s not surprising he doesn’t even bother showing he’s interested, he simply marches to the man and raises an eyebrow.

“What on earth are you doing leaning against _my_ door?” Louis asks, cocking his hips and jostling his tote full of groceries.

The man’s eyes snap to him and, oh, they’re of a gorgeous green colour. Louis tries his best to ignore them, which is proven easier than expected when he sees that the man looks somewhat angry, confused, and conflicted all at once. For a moment, no one speaks, and Green Eyes keeps staring at him as if Louis grew a second head. Louis has to prevent himself from sighing, because the man’s fucking slow, and he really wants to get inside his home and never comes out of it.

When Green Eyes finally speaks, Louis blushes. It’s a deep, slow voice that Louis’ sure is perfect for dirty talking. But the fantasy quickly fades when Green Eyes squares his shoulders, stares down at him and opens his mouth, pronouncing words that pierce through the fog that has settled in Louis’ brain.

“Do you live in flat 301?”

 _Goddamnit._ Louis widens his eyes and slightly shakes his head, and he can have as well said _duh,_ that’s exactly what he wants to convey. He’s asked the giant Adonis what he’s doing in front of Louis’ door, and Green Eyes still has to ask this. A bit passes, before Green Eyes lets out a low chuckle that sounds vaguely disbelieving. 

“Yeah, right,” he drawls, shaking his head. Louis is offended, because what in the world is going on. Letting go of his grocery tote, and trying not to wince as it topples over and its content spreads across the floor, Louis crosses his arms and gives Green Eyes his best and most intimidating glare. He hopes he looks the part, despite the fact several pints of ice cream are rolling away and making circles behind him.

“What is _this_ supposed to mean? What’s your problem, mate?” he snaps, taking a step closer to Green Eyes and stubbornly ignoring the man’s cologne which smells heavenly. It’s quite hard to stay angry when said anger is aimed at a ridiculously attractive stranger, but Louis gives himself credits, because he plays his part incredibly well. 

“My problem?” Green Eyes sneers, and Louis wants to punch him in the face. Louis waits for Green Eyes to speak again, but instead of that there’s a piece of paper that’s thrusted in his face, making his eyes cross for a few seconds. He scoffs and leans back to get a proper look at the bright green square paper.

Honestly, Louis is quite ashamed it takes him so long to recognize his own post-it. But when he does, he feels himself pale. He snatches the paper away and stares hard at it, then he looks up at the Adonis, and keeps doing that until it clicks that the asshole with the pretentious Gucci shirt (that Louis beautifully threw in the snow) is standing right in front of him.

It’s Louis’ luck that the only neighbor he seeks trouble with is his type. Why couldn’t it be a fifty year old married man with three kids, two of whom are doctors? Or a blonde? Louis has always been more fond of brunette men.

He waves the post-it in the air and fixes Green Eyes Asshole (the added noun fits the situation) with a cold look. “You’re the twat who took my clothes out when the wash cycle wasn’t even finished?”

“That’s bold,” Green Eyes Asshole laughs, taking the paper back from Louis’ fingers. “Maybe if you didn’t put so much soap in the machine that it almost clogged up, then I wouldn’t have had to stop the thing, huh?”

Now he’s blatantly lying, there’s no way Louis put too much soap, he’s sure of that. It was half a cup, give or take, which he thinks is _just_ enough for the amount of clothes he needed washed. 

“You’re lying,” is all he says, tapping his foot impatiently. He eyes his door. 

“Wish I were,” Green Eyes Asshole sighs. “Now, sweetheart, can we talk about how you ruined a four hundred dollar shirt?”

Louis flushes red at that (and also because of the pet name, but, details) and doesn’t say anything. He is _not_ going to apologize. He’s still convinced that what the guy did was incredibly disrespectful. And, honestly, that Gucci shirt was way too ugly to be in anyone’s wardrobe, so really, Louis did him a favour.

“I want to go back to my flat, if _sir_ will be kind enough to get out of the way.”

Green Eyes Asshole raises an eyebrow, and instead of doing what Louis expects him to do (which is to fuck off), he leans against the right side of the doorway, completely blocking the path. Perhaps if Louis screams loud enough about being attacked by a six-feet behemoth, then the neighbors will be kind enough to come to his rescue. He’s seriously considering it when the man reaches out and brushes Louis’ fringe out of his eye. It’s such a sweet gesture that Louis’ mind kind-of blanks for a moment. 

But Louis’ surprise doesn’t last long, since Green Eyes Asshole has to open his mouth.

“So much sass in such a tiny body,” he says softly, standing straighter, his eyes looking Louis up and down. Louis’ mouth drops open in shock. With a smile, Green Eyes Asshole walks around him, and he whirls around to follow him with his eyes. The _audacity_ of that dude, honestly. He wants to hurl the nearest ice cream pint at him.

The man stops and bends down to pick up the pint of Ben & Jerry’s mint chocolate cookie ice cream. He looks at it and throws it in the air, grabbing it as it comes down.

“I’m taking this as compensation for the shirt.”

This is a pint of ice cream worth _three dollars._ That man’s on pills, Louis decides, he must be. A tiny part of Louis though is glad it’s not being asked to pay four hundred dollars, but _still._ He has to watch Green Eyes Asshole walk away with his favourite ice cream flavour, after sending Louis a wink. He’s so fucking cocky it makes Louis sick, and he quickly calculates the amount of strength he has to put in so that the next thing he throws at the man will reach him, but before he can actually bend down to grab the bottle of orange juice, the man’s rounding the corner and disappearing from sight.

Louis sighs, his shoulders sagging, and he quickly gathers his groceries and throws them in the tote. His fingers find the crumbled green post-it, and he has to sit down and just stare at it to properly process what has just happened.

So much for throwing caution out of the window.

  
  


-

  
  


Zayn is not listening to him, Louis knows that, but he doesn’t stop talking and complaining. After the annoying encounter with the green-eyed asshole, he’s gone back to Sainsbury’s to buy a new pint of chocolate mint ice cream, but they ran out of the flavour and ever since he’s been feeling down. To make his irritation worse, he managed to picture Green Eyes Asshole on his sofa, eating _Louis_ ’ ice cream, and he had to talk to someone about his plight. And of course, that someone ended up being Zayn, who is too busy shouting at his television screen to pay Louis any mind.

Louis considers snatching Zayn’s video game console out of his hands, and maybe throw it out of the window for added effects, but he doesn’t fancy having his head removed from his shoulders.

Bored, he throws his head back and rolls his eyes at the ceiling. He waits a few more seconds for Zayn to say something about the issue at hand, which is that he’s pissed off with one of his neighbors, but Zayn keeps groaning and shouting at his fictional character. Louis pouts and stands up, deciding that he’s going to raid Zayn’s ridiculously huge kitchen in revenge.

It’s not surprising that Zayn’s fridge is perfectly clean, and full. There are various vegetables that he doesn’t remember eating, enough yoghurts to last two weeks and all kinds of non-dairy milk from soy to almond to oat. The collection of sauces is such that it can make any brand of fast-food jealous. There are also neatly stacked boxes full of home-cooked food that he considers putting in his bag to bring home. The cupboards are also stocked to the brim, and he hums in delight as he stares at the box of cereals. Corn Flakes, Froot Loops, Coco Pops (Louis’ favourite, so of course he jumps on the counter and snatches the box, putting it aside to bring back with him), Cookie Crisp, Frosties and many mores that are at the back of the cupboard and that he can’t be bothered to seek out.

He fetches his bag, throws the Coco Pops in it, along with several American candies that Zayn brought along with him from his last business trip. They’re stashed away and he knows Zayn doesn’t want to share them, but he knows every nook and cranny of Zayn’s penthouse, so he makes sure to take one of everything. He smirks to himself thinking of Zayn’s expression upon discovering he’s been cheated on. Louis jogs happily to the freezer, where he knows he’ll find ice cream and frozen meals, and he throws the heavy lid open, holding it up with both hands. He cocks his hips as he looks over its inside, and hissing, he puts one of his hands inside despite the cold. He’s pushing aside a box of Magnum when his smile slips off and his face goes lax.

“You have chocolate mint ice cream and you didn’t think of telling _me?”_ he shrieks, grabbing the pint and cradling it to his chest. The freeze lid bangs closed. He’s been whining about the lack of chocolate mint ice cream in his life to Zayn for a solid twenty minutes, and he didn’t think of telling Louis that he’s got one in stock?

What kind of friend is that? A bad one, is the answer. His Craislist idea looks more and more appealing by the second. 

He delicately puts the ice cream in his bag, grunting as he heaves it up on his shoulder. 

Zayn is still typing away on his console, his thumbs moving way too fast to be deemed normal.

“Bye, Zayn! I hate you!” he yells, then he’s out of the door and walking along Zayn's polished, spotless and pretentious corridor in this pretentious building. He knows Zayn replied with his own _love you, Lou, bye!_ just before the door closed, which makes Louis smile as he arrives at the lift and presses on the down button.

Out on the streets, people walk to and fro before him, without ever really paying him any attention. They’re all too busy and focused on their phones to acknowledge the world outside of their bubble. Louis walks quickly, slipping between bodies. It’s so cold, and he has to hide the better half of his face in his thick wool scarf. Zayn lives ten minutes by foot away from his building, so thankfully it doesn’t take long for him to see the familiar grey and powdery green façades of the skyscraper that he’s come to call home. He pushes open the heavy door, and salutes the caretaker, who smiles back softly.

“Hi, love, good day?” the old man asks, flipping another page of his newspaper.

“It’s doing well so far, Paul, thank you!”

Louis waves at him then skips to the stairs, taking them quickly. He’s on his floor when something catches his eye.

With his heart speeding up, Louis watches as someone disappears behind a wall, and he’s sure he recognizes those broad shoulders, even though he’s met Green Eyes Asshole only once.

  
  


-

  
  


Every month Louis makes it a point of honour to go to St Mungo’s to help out as much as possible, and that regardless of the weather. It’s Saturday when he finishes baking several batches of his signature raspberry and chocolate fudge brownie that he puts into pastry boxes to be transported easily. He then proceeds to dress into a pair of thick skinny jeans, yellow leather boots that go over two pairs of socks (his toes get cold easily), a tee-shirt, a turtleneck and a red wool coat. He also puts on his scarf and a little heart-shaped clip in his hair to hold back his fringe. He’s all ready to go when he glances out of the window and sees that it’s started to rain.

“Christ’s sake,” he mutters, closing his eyes to calm himself down. To him, there’s nothing worse than rain in the middle of winter. But St Mungo’s is more important than his comfort, and he’s baked too many things to back down, so he looks all around his flat for an umbrella and, when he finds it, he gives himself a mental pep talk and walks out of his flat door.

His bag weighs down on his forearm, but he ignores it and locks his door. He struggles with the umbrella, which he lets fall down to his feet. Perhaps he should have waited before opening it. Rolling his eyes at himself, he bends down to pick the polka dot umbrella and hurries down the stairs. It’s rather early in the morning, with the sun having just progressed past the horizon line, and he absolutely does not want to be late. Although he loathes waking up before seven in the morning, today is an exception, and he feels cranky and ready to sleep right there on the steps, but then he thinks of James and Lilly and all those homeless people he’s come to call friends, and his mood slightly cheers up.

Before stepping out, Louis puts his sunglasses on. There’s no need for them, really, but details. He probably is a sight, with his polka dot umbrella, his bright yellow boots, his red coat and his Prada star-shaped sunglasses. He knows Paul is looking at him in a mix of disbelief and amusement, so Louis only sends a kiss to the caretaker before he’s stepping out of the building and straight into the rain.

Instantly, the water slips into the fabric that covers his arms, and he has to incline the umbrella slightly to the right so that the bag that can’t be closed and which is full of brownies won’t get any water inside. But as a consequence, Louis’ left arm and shoulders are exposed and he freezes when ice cold water seeps into his scarf and reaches the delicate skin of his neck. Honestly, what the fuck is this weather? Louis huffs and barely dodges a stranger as they hurry past him, almost knocking him down.

He wants to call out after them for being so careless, but in the end he gives up and starts to run as the rain picks up. It’s a full on downpour now, and he keeps muttering curses as he walks into puddles of muddy water and almost breaks his neck on the white paint that’s on the asphalt concrete. He’s about to scream in rage when the familiar building of St Mungo’s comes into view, and he has to look over his sunglasses to even see something. Sunglasses and rain is not a great combination, that much is sure. He doesn’t spot anyone outside, which is understandable since it’s so early, but usually in summer, when the weather isn’t as shitty, there are tramps waiting for the doors to open to get inside, even at six in the morning. He jogs to the doorway, which is partially protected from the rain, and closes the umbrella, letting out a shriek when the water on the nylon flies all over him and into his face.

He drops the offending thing in an umbrella holder and pushes his sunglasses up and onto his hair. He tries not to cringe as he feels for his damp hair, which when he left his flat had been soft, dry and shiny. Stupid, fucking, shitty weather. But his irritation lessens when he sees Leslie talking to Benjamin, moving her hands towards the tables that will hold all the food to be given away to those in need.

Leslie turns around and spots him, her eyes lighting up.

“Louis!” she says brightly, opening her arms to greet him, though when Louis shakes his head and gestures at his miserable wet state, she quickly puts her arms down and grabs a towel that’s been resting on a chair. “There you go, darling.”

Leslie is a forty-something woman who has spent her life giving to the homeless. She runs the charity and is such a kind and brave soul that Louis has taken to looking up to her as an example of traits he’d like to exhibit one day. She herself has been living on the streets at a very young age, when she was barely sixteen and her parents threw her out because of her sexuality. But years later she managed to get help and start a new life, and despite being financially comfortable now, she never forgot the struggles she went through before, and she’s been an active member of St Mungo’s for decades. She is always willing to help others out, and when Louis first asked to be a volunteer there, she was the one to show him around and make him comfortable.

With soft eyes, Louis uses the towel to dry himself. Leslie is talking to someone behind Louis, so he doesn’t pay attention to the conversation, too busy mopping the water from his skin and hair.

“Thanks, Harry,” Leslie smiles, then she’s turning her attention back on Louis. “Now, I can smell something delicious. Yum yum!”

Louis laughs and nods, handing her the towel and bending down to grab the bag. “Five batches of brownies, at your service.”

She thanks him profusely and Louis tries not to blush under the shower of praise, but he fails, feeling the apples of his cheeks warm up. Leslie tells him that she’ll send someone to help him carry the brownies to the buffet tables, and with a wink Louis takes the bag to the kitchen to have the brownies cut. He puts them one by one on the table, and grabs a knife. The journey from his flat to there has allowed the brownies to cool down, so it’s easier to cut them without making a giant mess. He’s delicate as he makes little squares, each time cleaning the blade to make sure they are all perfect. 

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” a voice says from behind him, and Louis… well, he’s not proud of the squeal he lets out as he whirls around, pointing the knife at whatever dumbass decided to scare the shit out of him.

He falters when he sees Green Eyes Asshole.

“What’s wrong with _you?”_ Louis snarls, waving the chocolate-coated knife around. The man follows the weapon with his eyes, amusement written all over his face, and Louis alternatively wants to drink in his attractive face and gouge his eyes out.

“I’m only here to help carry out the brownies,” he answers, putting his hands up in the air to show there’s no malice behind his words.

“Ok,” Louis breathes out, then he frowns. “But what are you doing _here?”_

Louis has never seen the guy here before. Now that he thinks about it, he’s never seen him anywhere, so it starts to dawn on him that Green Eyes Asshole is new around there. Slowly and still eyeing the knife (that Louis refuses to put down until he’s sure Green Eyes Asshole isn’t going to do anything bad, such as steal the brownies), the man walks around Louis and grabs two pastry boxes of brownies that are cut, raising an eyebrow when he sees that Louis is still ready to stab him.

“Might want to cut the other two brownies, hm? And I’m here for the same reason you’re here.”

On that, he turns around and walks out of the kitchen door.

That giant dork stole Louis’ ice cream, surely he’s not there to _volunteer._ Thieves don’t do charity work, he’s sure of it. Perhaps Louis can get him expelled out of the building if he tells Leslie about Green Eyes Asshole stealing Louis’ food (he’s exaggerating, he is perfectly aware of that, but he honestly doesn’t care). He’s going over his speech while he cuts the rest of the brownie, and he’s cleaning the knife when Green Eyes Asshole comes back and grabs two other batches. 

Which makes Louis think about something.

“What’s your name?” he asks out of the blue, figuring he can’t go any longer with calling the man Green Eyes Asshole, though it fits him perfectly.

The tall man startles as if he didn’t expect Louis to talk to him, but quickly recovers. “Why do you want my name?”

 _Duh._ Louis is going to tug on his shiny curls until he goes bald.

“To report you to the police,” Louis deadpans.

He doesn’t expect the obnoxious, ridiculous laugh that spills from the man’s lips, so he thinks he’s justified when he blinks in surprise and lets out a giggle of his own. Green Eyes Asshole’s laugh is the kind of laugh that sounds so funny that you’re obliged to laugh too.

“Going to report me for what, exactly?” he asks, a smirk on his ridiculously red lips. Louis definitely doesn’t stare at them.

“For looting,” he answers absently, drying his hands on the cloth.

For a moment, they don’t speak. Louis looks absolutely everywhere but at the man, though he can feel green eyes on him.

“Harry Styles,” he says softly, and Louis has just the time to look up and sees the way Harry’s face has gone fond before Harry turns around and disappears once again through the door.

Harry Styles. Now this is what Louis calls a pretentious name. 

There’s only one batch of brownie left for him to bring, so he picks it up and carries it through the room to where the table of desserts awaits. The table is filled with cookies, red velvet cake, his brownies and other goodies that Louis can’t wait to give away, just to see the look of pure happiness on the face of all the people that walk through the door of St Mungo’s. He smiles at Leslie and Pierre, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry chatting with Joselyne. Harry has a beautiful smile, Louis thinks bitterly, with his two slightly bigger front teeth giving him a goofy look that mixes well with his tall stature and overall intimidating aura. Louis turns his head and stares at the window. He _can’t_ find the enemy attractive.

Rush hour is much earlier than usual due to the bad weather. By nine there’s a steady stream of people, all of them wearing tattered clothes, all of them barely smiling. The cold has frozen the lines on their faces, making them seem much older than they actually are. Louis sees a girl that looks to be thirty years old, but really, she could be only twenty. There’s hunger, desperation, tiredness weaved in their skin and burning within their irises. Louis scoops a piece of fraisier and puts it on the plate of a man who only gives him a small smile of gratitude, but quickly dashes away to one of the available dining tables. 

Louis has come to understand the shame that some people feel at having to seek out help. It doesn’t make it any less painful to witness it. It’s not their fault that society, politics, and education have failed them. He’s taken an economic course and he’s learnt what a bad education system can do, and Louis wants to tell them that they’re not at fault, that there’s no shame in being here, that they’re not alone. He tries to make small talk with as many strangers as possible, trying to get to know them better, but it goes well only with the people he’s already befriended.

He smiles brightly when next in line is Monica, a beautiful woman with stunning golden eyes. They have known each other for a whole year now, and Louis is always eager to talk to her and hear her funny street anecdotes.

“Hi, Lou,” she greets him, watching as Louis instantly gives her a large piece of raspberry chocolate brownie, which he knows Monica adores.

“Hi, Monica, how’re you doing?” Louis asks, and she chuckles.

“Same old, same old,” she sighs, giving him a toothy smile. She leans closer to him, and Louis does the same, ready to hear what she’s been up to. “Managed to trade a pack of cigarettes for a box full of period pads. But, well, the twist is that the fags were stale as fuck.”

Louis snorts and shakes his head, giving her a thumbs-up as she winks at him and walks to the dining tables. He continues to serve desserts until practically everything is gone. He manages to not glance, not even once, towards where Harry is, even though he’s wanted to. It’s just… Harry talks loud and he laughs like a donkey high on skunk, and as much as Louis wants to turn around and see the way his large mouth stretches wide and the way his eyes sparkle, he doesn’t allow his focus to run away from the task at hand.

  
  


-

  
  


Despite having closed his window, it feels as if he were in Canada. That’s how cold he bloody is. He blows in his hands, rubbing them to try and get his body temperature up, but to no avail. He has even slipped a thick coat on, despite hating having too much clothes on his body when he’s home. He sighs and shakily brings his cup of tea to his lips, humming as the hot liquid slides down his throat.

He has frostbitten fingers, and he can't feel the tip of his nose. Enough is fucking enough. Groaning, he stands up, throws his head back to finish his tea and stalks to his door. He doesn’t even bother jumping out of his ladybug slippers, instead practically running down the stairs to his landlord’s office. It’s ridiculously big, and with invisible steam rushing out of his ears he bangs loudly on the door.

 _“Joseph,”_ he snaps, his voice loud. “It’s been a week since I told you to get someone to repair my damn heater! I’m freezing to death in there!”

The door swings open, but instead of the round, beet-red face of his landlord, he comes face to face with none other than Harry Styles. He blinks, looking up into Harry’s amused face. He hates the way his eyes trace the curves of Harry’s lips, and his long eyelashes. What the fuck. He subtly shakes his head and works his facial features into a scowl, tapping one of his feet impatiently. He watches as Harry’s eyes drop to his slippers, his mouth twisting to keep the laugh in as he spots his ladybug slippers.

God. He can’t believe that asshole is laughing at his lovely slippers.

“Move,” he sighs, making a shooing gesture with his hand, trying to peek over Harry’s shoulder. He only manages to see the tip of his landlord’s balding head.

“You’ve interrupted a very important conversation with our landlord,” is what Harry says instead of doing what Louis asked, and he narrows his eyes dangerously, looking Harry up and down. As much as he likes what he sees, he doesn’t mind getting his claws out and ripping Harry’s ugly shirt to shreds. Maybe cut a bit of skin in the process, to get his discontentment across.

“If you don’t move out of my way, I will kneel you in your crotch so hard you’re going to limp for the next foreseeable years,” he hisses, and just as he’s about to send his knee forward, his pissed looking landlord shoulders past Harry to glance at Louis in barely concealed tiredness.

“Tomlinson,” Joseph sighs, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with his shirt. He makes Louis think of a sloth with oversized glasses on and giant bags under the eyes. “I told you, someone will come by.”

Louis scoffs. “You told me that a _week_ ago. Seven days ago. A hundred and sixty-eight hours ago. I can’t go any longer without a heater, Joseph.”

It’s obvious it doesn’t please Joseph to have to pay for Louis’ heater, but he isn’t going to back down. From the corner of his eyes he sees Harry folding several sheets of paper, sliding them in his coat and straightening up, his eyes meeting Louis’. Louis quickly looks away at the same time Harry steps closer, clearing his throat.

“Maybe,” he starts, his voice cautious. “I could have a look at your heater? I’ve repaired one before. And if it’s truly dead then Mr. Weasley can call someone else, or just replace it.”

Before Louis can open his mouth to tell Harry to fuck off, Joseph Weasley whirls around, looking at Harry as if he were some kind of God. Harry offers their landlord a small nod before he’s stepping out of the office, Louis having to reluctantly step back so Harry can go through the doorway.

“You are a lifesaver,” Joseph tells Harry, shaking his hand. “That one’s been on my arse for way too long.”

The audacity. Louis purses his lips. “Maybe if you weren’t such a pathetic excuse of a landlord, Mr. Weasley.”

Joseph ignores him, stepping back into his office and swinging his door closed. It’s just Louis and Harry then, and HE watches as Harry smirks at him and starts to walk to the stairs. Grunting, he hurries after him, taking the stairs two at a time, pushing Harry out of the way with his hip as they reach Louis’ floor.

“First, you take your shoes off before entering my flat. Second, you don’t touch anything besides the heater. Third, you be as quick as possible, capiche?” Louis lists off as they arrive at door 301. 

“Sure, princess,” Harry says, his voice teasing, and Louis eyes the tall fucker in distaste.

“Fourth, don’t call me that.”

He digs his keys out of his coat’s pocket and twists his door open, allowing Harry to enter first and having to hold back a long and exasperated sigh when Harry stops in the middle of the doorway, bending down to unzip his boots. At least he is listening to Louis. Sticking to the wall, Louis rounds Harry and walks into his living room, glad that his flat is _relatively_ tidy. He frowns and kicks several empty cans of Coca-Cola under the coffee table, and practically jumps on the dick-shaped candle Zayn gifted him last year (it smells great, ok?) and which is standing innocently on a piece of furniture. He quickly puts it in a drawer, snapping it shut and whirling around as he hears a low cough.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” Louis tries to keep the tone of his voice neutral as he guides Harry to his bedroom, and he mentally goes over the state of it, and before he can panic Harry is stepping through, his tall body looking oddly out of place in Louis’ small and cosy room. The heater is next to his bed so Harry crouches down in front of it, his big tattooed hands touching the thing. He glances at his bed and blanches when he notices his vibrator lying among his messy quilt.

He doesn’t really think it through as he limps into the air, landing on the vibrator, grimacing as the purple-coloured long thing digs in his hip, and his eyes widen when his elbow lands on the remote control and the vibrator starts to vibrate—

Harry’s hands freeze for a second and Louis feels himself growing more embarrassed.

“Phone,” Louis croaks out, his cheeks flaming red. “Phone’s vibrating.”

He makes a show of patting his coat, looking for his phone which he, of course, left in the kitchen. Oh my god. Thankfully, Harry isn’t looking at him so he’s able to use the remote control to turn the vibrator off, and the silence that follows is positively deafening.

Louis caresses the skin of his cheek, swearing it tingles under the touch, and he clears his throat. “So?”

Harry stands up, glancing over his shoulder at Louis. If he’s surprised to find the smaller man spread out over the bed, he doesn’t show it.

“I need to get some tools, but I think I can repair it.”

Louis jerks his head and sits up. He’s now got his ass over the vibrator, and he smiles at Harry, hoping it doesn’t come across as a grimace. He rubs the back of his neck, squirming as Harry’s eyes don’t leave him. _Stop looking at me, you freak,_ Louis mentally begs, gathering his quilt and moving it in a way that it covers the toy as he, himself, stands up.

“The front door is unlocked,” Louis tells Harry, rocking on the soles of his feet. He gathers his wit, refusing to let himself be caught off guard by such a small incident. “I believe you’re big enough to make the journey from your flat to mine without dying.”

Harry smirks, his green eyes sparkling as he licks his lips. “Yes, big enough I reckon.”

Then he walks out of Louis’ bedroom, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he goes. Louis hates the way his entire body flushes, and the moment he hears his front door clicking shut he’s making a marathon around his entire bedroom, gathering his toys and his panties (oh my god he would die if Harry saw them), forcing them in one of his drawers. He is putting an Edgar Allan Poe book over a magazine with a half-naked Jamie Dornan as the front cover when he hears heavy steps and the jostle of tools. Harry politely knocks on the door, announcing his presence.

“Come in!” Louis calls, wetting his lips as Harry appears, his arm bulging slightly under the weight of his tool box. His lips are twitching, as if he were holding back a chuckle, and Louis doesn’t like it and pouts to himself.

“I think something is blocking the flow of air,” Harry informs him as he sets his box down and kneels. Louis bites his lips and follows Harry’s long fingers as they work a screwdriver, and he can’t help but think of how wonderful these digits would feel deep inside of him. He blushes at the thought and glances at the ceiling, because what the hell he’s not supposed to think like that about a guy he’s talked to for maybe twenty minutes, give or take.

The heater rattles slightly as Harry pulls the top off, and Louis has to snap his attention back to Harry when the curly-haired man lets out a whistle. Louis is about to snap when Harry holds something up, and Louis sees that it’s a blood red _panty._ What? He snatches it from Harry’s hand, feeling the silky fabric between his fingers. He remembers looking for that particular panty for ages, and he’s torn between jumping in happiness or dying of mortification. Harry is quick and efficient as he puts the heater back together, but Louis can see that Harry is affected, the apples of his cheeks slightly rosy.

Harry clears his throat. “Let’s see if it works, alright?”

It does; the moment Harry turns it on, warm air is pumping into his bedroom and he nearly takes Harry in his arms, but he’d rather die than do that. Instead he practically shoves his face in the stream, humming as his frozen face heats up. He forgets the panty clutched in his hand, peeking out from his fist. He shrugs his coat off, throwing it to the side. He also forgets he’s in a tank top and booty shorts that leave _very_ little to the imagination, but he can’t bring himself to care because finally, _finally_ , he is warm.

He glances over his shoulder, blinking. “Thank you, Styles.”

Harry’s eyes, which were on him (probably looking at his ass), dart to the side as he jerks his head. The tool box is in front of Harry’s crotch and Louis tries not to smirk. He’s glad he’s affecting the other man, and he keeps watching as Harry jerks his thumb towards the door.

“Gotta go, hm.”

He’s _flustered,_ and Louis loves it. He waits until Harry is halfway through the door to call him. Harry stops and cocks his head, waiting for Louis to talk.

Louis tries not to let his shit-eating grin take over his features. “Could you let Mr. Weasley know that the problem has been taken care of?”

  
  


-

  
  


The next time he bumps into Harry, he’s dragging another basket full of dirty clothes into the utility room. He has tried getting Zayn to do it, but since he’s gone to bloody China for a month, there’s only so much procrastination Louis can do before the situation gets out of hand. He enters ass first, having to use both hands to get the stupid basket to one of the available machines, and it’s not until he straightens up, moaning as the small of his back cracks after being bent over for several minutes, that he notices the tall shadow to his right, leaning against the wall like some kind of model on a Playboy magazine.

Or like some kind of demon. Louis isn’t sure.

He huffs as he eyes Harry, who is already looking at him, a smirk on his annoyingly attractive face. Louis ignores him and goes about doing his laundry, opening the machine, stuffing his clothes in (and making a lame job at hiding the pile of dirty panties), and selecting some of the options (randomly). He grabs his bottle of dish soap and is about to pour some into the cup when a hand grabs it, halting his movement. He eyes the ridiculously large hand, the rings and the tattoos, then glares at its owner.

“The fuck are you doing?” he hisses, tucking the bottle free from Harry’s grip. Harry sighs, brandishing a bottle of laundry detergent.

“You’ll damage your clothes overtime by using an inappropriate product,” he says, opening up the little trap where the product is supposed to go. “And for the love of God, it’s two tablespoons of detergent, not a cup.”

Louis glares even harder, capping his bottle of soap back and throwing it angrily in his basket. What a stupid fucking asshole. He holds back from doing something (he doesn’t know what, but something), crossing his arms as Harry boots up the machine, throwing him a big, rather smug smile. He jerks away when Harry gently taps his finger against Louis’ temple.

“Keep that in mind,” he whispers, then he’s walking by Louis and to his machine, his broad back to Louis as he waits for his wash cycle to finish. Louis sighs and abandons his basket next to the machine as he hurries out of the room, though he’s pretty sure Harry watches him all the while.

Once his door clicks shut, he screams in a pillow. Why is Harry Styles so infuriating? His smug smiles drive Louis up the wall, no matter how much Louis wants to poke those evil dimples. He huffs and grabs himself some ice cream, eating it on his couch, glaring at his blank television screen. Goddammit, he was doing perfect with old little Jolene two doors down, or Martin I-collect-rocks who lives in the flat opposite him. He doesn’t need an Adonis with a cocky smile in his life. 

He doesn’t see the hours go by, so he practically jumps to the ceiling when he remembers he has clothes waiting to be picked up downstairs. He throws on some random coat and opens the door, but the next moment he is face-planting and hitting his nose (his perfect, adorable nose, _oh my god_ ) painfully against the carpeted ground. His legs are on something, and glancing down he realizes he has just tripped over his very own fucking clothes basket, that he distinctively remembers leaving in the utility room. Massaging his aching nose, he sits up, throwing his legs off the basket and standing up. 

What the fucking fuck.

His clothes are neatly folded, stacked in the basket, and Louis flushes when he spots all of his panties covering the better part of the shirts, crop tops and pants. He sees a piece of paper on top of them, and he bends down, grabbing it. He almost passes out on the spot as he reads the words, written in a sloppy handwriting. 

**_Nice collection x_ **

What the absolute fucking _shit._ Louis’ mouth drops open as he pictures Harry picking up his panties, touching them. He leans against the wall, taking a deep breath, and unable to tell whether the tug in his guts is from the thought of Harry putting his big paws all over his panties or from the anger that blossoms in him, because what the heck the sheer _audacity_ of that twat is unreal. He tears the piece of paper to shreds and kicks his basket inside his flat, slamming his door shut. He hears a muffled voice come through the other side of his wall.

“Fuck off, Jason!” he shouts to the wannabe-surfer living next door, glancing down at the uneven pieces of paper in his palm. He’s going to kill Harry. Maybe he’s going to knee him in the crotch so hard he won’t be able to produce sperm anymore. Or better yet, he’s going to shave that fucker’s head bald then write ‘twat’ all over it in his best fucking cursive.

In the end, he sets fire to the bits of paper, watching them burn with his mouth full of leftover pasta.

  
  


-

  
  


It becomes more and more obvious that Harry Styles is the biggest asshole that can be found in the entire solar system. Louis wants to wipe that smirk off his face, and he’s genuinely considering throwing a punch so hard it will break Harry’s two bunny front teeth. He wouldn’t be smiling with two front teeth missing now, would he? When Louis pictured it in his head, a smiling Harry with missing teeth, he doubled over laughing in the middle of the supermarket, receiving odd looks from the people around him.

They cross paths at the most random time, and most of the time either Harry is doing something that’s pissing Louis off, or Louis is doing something that’s pissing Harry off. At one point it even becomes a piss contest, a “I can piss farther than you,” type of feud. It’s little things, really, like that one time Louis had gone to the pool that’s on the highest floor, and he was in the elevator when he saw Harry rushing out of the double doors of the gym room, frantically looking around until his eyes fell on him. He started to run just as the elevator door started closing, and he wouldn’t catch it unless Louis blocked said door, and, well. He smirked and waved, flashing his prettiest smile as the door closed completely in Harry’s stunned face. No regrets.

But then there was also that one time when Louis was rushing through the streets, holding two very heavy grocery bags, trying to blink away the fat drops of water in his eyes. It had started raining just as he was about to step out, and he was so pissed off. It was the cherry on top when a car passed by at high speed, splashing a giant puddle of water onto him, drenching his entire body and face. He spluttered, dropping his grocery bags and screaming at the top of his lungs for the asshole behind the wheel to _fucking_ _watch it._ He did not expect for the car to stop and backtrack and he certainly did _not_ expect for the car window to roll down and for Harry’s faux-sorry face to come into view.

“Sorry, dear,” he shouted over the roar of the thundering sky and the rain. “Best of luck!”

Louis screamed bloody murder.

And it doesn’t stop there. At St Mungo’s Harry keeps looking over at him, making the back of his neck tickle. Whenever that happens he wants to hurl the closest cake at Harry’s stupid face. Or more than Louis likes to admit, they’ve bumped into one another in the stairs, and it’s always awkward and tense, with Louis looking absolutely everywhere and Harry staring hard enough at the ground to burn a hole through it.

It’s such a foreign situation, to have a beef with someone. He thinks about it as he walks home, having just finished meeting up with a client, and there’s the beginning of a dull pain in his temples, throbbing and annoying and he honestly can’t wait to be in his bed in nothing but his panties and a thin tank top, a steaming cup of tea on his bedside table, his heater pumping warm air as he curls his toes in his lavender-smelling sheets. He’s decided to take a shortcut, passing through a damp, little alley. The soles of his boots make click-clack sounds as they hit the cobblestone street, but a little noise has him stopping, turning around to look around him, frowning.

Just as he’s about to resume his walk, another soft sound echoes around him and his eyes snap to a discarded big cardbox, the bottom of it soaked. He cautiously approaches it, peering over the box and his heart breaks as he spots a tiny, tiny black kitten meowing and cowering away in a corner.

“Hi, darling,” he whispers, reaching inside slowly, kneeling and ignoring the water as it seeps in the fabric covering his knee. At first the kitten only meows, big yellow eyes going between his face and his hand, and Louis can see it shaking from the cold, skinny from not eating. He remembers the sandwich he didn’t finish earlier and fetches it, breaking it in bite-sized bits, dropping them in front of the kitten.

It takes a single second for the kitten to smell what it is that Louis has put in front of it, before it’s swallowing everything down, so quickly in fact that Louis becomes worried the kitten will choke. Thankfully, it doesn’t, and instead it meows again and takes several tentative steps away from the corner, its oversized yellow eyes on Louis’ face. It is so adorable, its damp fur sticking up in random places, but his fond smile quickly drops when the kitten gives a sharp cry and stumbles forward. Louis is quick though, grabbing it and bringing it to his chest, and it doesn’t take long for him to spot the problem.

One of the kitten’s legs is severely injured. He can’t tell how serious it is, but it alarms him enough that he pulls up Google Maps and searches for the nearest veterinarian. It’s a ten minutes walk, so Louis cradles the kitten against his chest and covers it with his coat, taking a different path, his eyes on his phone. He makes sure to hold the cat steady, in a way that it isn’t jostled as he rushes through the streets. He spots the sign reading ‘veterinary clinic’ fast enough, and gets horned by several cars as he cuts across the road. He doesn’t care though, pushing open the clinic’s door, sighing in relief when warm air washes over him.

A woman with vibrant red hair and freckles welcomes him, her eyes leaving her computer screen to settle on him. She offers him a smile, which quickly twists as he uncover the wounded kitten. She stands up and rushes to him, and amidst it all Louis catches her name tag. Emily.

“Oh,” she coos, her eyes going over the kitten. “You poor thing.”

Louis nods. “I found it in an abandoned cardboard box, in an alley.”

An expression of sadness befalls her face, though there’s no surprise. “It’s a recurring situation, unfortunately, Mr.?”

“Tomlinson,” he supplies, going to the desk. She spreads out a soft blanket and puts the kitten on it, and gently she examines the wounded leg. A grimace curls her lips and Louis starts to panic.

“The wound is infected,” she rushes out, jotting down notes. “Badly. Amputation might be the only solution to save her.”

Louis blanches. When she disappears through the door to call the veterinarian, Louis is approaching the kitten, and caresses her cheeks tenderly.

“A little girl then, hm?” he whispers to her. His heart melts in a poodle when the kitten leans into his touch, asking for more. “What am I going to call you?”

Before he can answer his own question, there’s a voice ringing from behind him and he freezes.

“Louis?” Harry says, frowning as Louis blinks confusedly at the taller man. His eyes widen though, when he takes in what Harry is wearing; a light blue medical scrubs. _No,_ he mentally scoffs in disbelief. _You're a fucking veterinarian?_ He can’t believe he’s just walked in Harry’s clinic. 

He doesn’t know what do say, and thankfully the kitten saves him from saying something stupid as she meows, catching Harry’s attention. Before Louis can explain what’s going on, Harry is in front of the kitten, looking down at her with tenderness. He takes a few seconds caressing the kitten before he’s gathering the animal in his arms and walking swiftly through the door. Louis begs Emily through his eyes to be allowed in the room, and she nods, giving him a reassuring smile.

When he enters the clinic room, he finds Harry standing in front of a steel table.

“Emily told me you found her in a cardboard box?” 

Louis nods, hugging himself and keeping his worried eyes on his kitten. Yes, his. He has decided he will be keeping her, that he will give her a home and all the love he has within him, no matter the outcome of Harry’s diagnosis.

Harry sighs, Adam's apple bobbing. “Her back leg was degloved, and it’s infested with maggots. The damage is such that the only solution is immediate amputation.”

Louis frowns and only jerks his head, stepping back as someone comes through the door holding a basket of what Louis assumes to be full with pain killers, antibiotics, and what is needed to amputate his kitten’s leg. When Harry turns around to look at him, his face softens and he takes a tentative step towards Louis.

“Maybe it’s best if you wait outside.”

He doesn’t answer; he lets the door close gently behind him and sits in one of the nearest chairs, his leg bouncing nervously while the minutes tick by.

  
  


-

  
  


When Harry comes out of the clinic with a sleeping kitten resting amongst several layers of blankets, all stacked in a pastel lavender basket, Louis knows right away he wants to name her Calanthe. He rushes to her and gently takes the basket, taking in her bandaged leg.

“She’ll be alright,” Harry says, his voice soft, trying not to disturb the moment. “She’s still asleep because of the anesthesia. It’s then just a matter of time for her to get used to having only one leg. Under the blanket there’s a hot bag so she remains warm.”

Louis listens and nods his understanding, going to the desk to sign some papers and pay for the intervention. Harry lingers behind.

“She’ll need to be given pain killers for several days until the wound starts to heal.”

“Alright,” Louis tells him while capping the ballpoint pen, giving it back to Emily. “How do I do that?”

For a moment, Harry only looks at him, his face unreadable.

“I’ll come by later and show you,” Harry nods at him then whirls around, disappearing behind one of the doors, leaving him fish-mouthing after Harry. What the fuck? Harry is not coming to his flat! He didn’t agree to that! He glances at Emily who is busy making heart eyes as his Calanthe, and he goes back to glaring at the door, though after several minutes it becomes obvious Harry isn’t going to come out again.

Emily startles when she sees he’s still there, and she looks at him quizzically. Louis clears his throat.

“See ya!” he stresses out, then he’s walking out of the clinic, Calanthe’s basket against his chest, his fingers tight around it, though he can’t tell whether it’s because he’s scared he might drop her, or because he’s nervous slash angry about Harry coming over at his flat later in the day.

He wants to remain mad, but deep down he is glad Harry will be there to take care of Calanthe. He has never given pain killers to an animal, or any other type of medicine for that matter (the only pet he has ever owned was a moth, and it died three days after Louis had found it), so he is reassured that Harry’s professional hands will be there to assist his kitten. But he promises to kick Harry out the moment he’s done.

The walk from the clinic to the building takes barely ten minutes, and it’s no wonder that Harry has settled in the same building as Louis, being so close to his workplace. Louis pouts at the thought, pushing the front door open with his hip, shielding the basket enough so that it doesn’t jostle. Paul looks over the brim of his journal, raising an eyebrow when his eyes fall on Calanthe. His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything besides glancing to the side at Joseph Weasley’s office door.

Louis shrugs. “Screw him.”

He usually takes the stairs, but with Calanthe in his arms he goes for the elevator, smiling to himself as Paul’s laughter follows him to the steel box. It soundlessly goes up to Louis’ floor, taking only a few seconds, and not once does Louis tear his eyes away from the sleeping kitten, his mind already working out what he has in his pantry that Calanthe will eat. He’ll buy cat food, of course, but in the meantime he decides to settle on tuna. He pushes open the door and steps inside, gently dropping his keys on one of the furniture and putting the basket down on his carpet, close to the couch. He spends several seconds just looking at Calanthe, and after making sure the blankets are still warm, he goes away, turning on the heater and stripping naked.

He jumps in his shower, humming _Baby One More Time,_ moving his hips left to right, rubbing his soaped hair. He takes too long, he knows it, but at least once he wraps the fluffy blanket around him, he’s smelling of coconut and his skin is a lovely pink colour from being scrubbed. He slips on his pyjama, a thin, pastel yellow silk tank top and shorts that match in colour, and goes barefoot to the living room. Absently he thinks that maybe he should wear something more appropriate, seeing as Harry is supposedly coming by, but he doesn’t actually care. His flat, his rules. If Harry can’t take care of Calanthe because he’s too busy staring at Louis’ bouncy butt cheeks, then it’s a valid reason for Louis to kick Harry out. He smiles to himself thinking about it.

Calanthe is still asleep, but she has moved since, and her paws twitch every once in a while. He heats up some pasta, pouring himself a tall glass of water, and eats on the couch where he has a good look of her. When she wakes up, night has fallen in, and she yawns and she’s so adorable Louis makes heart eyes at her and keeps cooing.

“Hi baby,” he sing-songs, grabbing the blue bowl he’s put on the coffee table and putting it in the basket. It’s filled with oily tuna, and she whimpers as she smells the bowl and attempts to eat, but she struggles sitting up while her wound is still so fresh. Louis crouches down next to the basket, strokes her head to calm her down, and tilts the bowl so she doesn’t have to move to eat. She swallows down everything in less than five minutes, licking her mouth clean and meowing what Louis assumes is her gratitude. He bumps her wet nose with his forefinger before bringing the dirty dishes to the sink.

A knock makes Louis sigh loudly, rolling his eyes as he drops his plate in the sink and dries his hands with a cloth. He purses his lips as he walks to the door, glancing over his shoulder and finding Calanthe's big, round yellow eyes on him.

“You can claw at meanie Harry Styles, ok, baby?” he tells Calanthe as he unlocks the door and throws it open, cocking his hip and raising an eyebrow as he, unsurprisingly, comes face to face with Harry. He has changed out his scrubs, and is now in thick denim jeans and a simple black tee-shirt that stretches obscenely over his biceps and chest. Louis isn’t proud of the way his eyes linger on Harry’s nipples, the shape of them visible, and he has to mentally kick himself to glance up into Harry’s face. He also has to mentally hold himself back from punching Harry in the face when he sees the smirk spread over it.

“Louis,” Harry acknowledges him, nodding politely. “How’s she?”

Straight to the point, then. Louis clicks his tongue and steps to the side, and Harry marches into the flat, spotting Calanthe right away and going straight to her. He crouches down, putting one knee on the carpet, keeping his shoes off it (which— he should fucking have removed, but he lets it slide), and it’s only then that he notices the leather satchel from which Harry takes out what he assumes are the painkillers.

Harry is whispering sweet nothings to her, taking out a pipette which he fills with liquid painkillers. Then, he uses his thumb and forefinger to open Calanthe’s mouth, revealing her teeth and tongue, then he puts the pipette between her gnashers on the side and pours the medicine slowly, giving her enough time to swallow. Louis scoffs. He thought it was something difficult to do, not… that. He could have done it himself, but Mr. Styles have to be a pain in the ass.

He walks closer to the pair, sending a little kiss to Calanthe and glaring at Harry.

“I could have done that myself, you know,” he practically hisses, shooing Harry away when he is done so that he can be closer to his kitten. He caresses her and giggles as she mouths at his fingers, her sharp teeth tickling his skin. Harry closes his satchel and leans back on his feet, his hands resting on his thighs. When Louis glances over, Harry’s eyes snap down, focusing particularly hard on Calanthe. What? Does Louis have something on his face?

Harry clears his throat. “What’s her name?”

“Not your business.”

He narrows his eyes. “I saved her life, so I think it _is_ my business.”

“Well,” Louis rolls his eyes. “Technically, if _I_ hadn’t found her then _you_ wouldn’t have been able to save her, so in this narrative I’m _fairly_ sure _I_ hold more importance.”

Louis is pretty proud of his logic, and he brushes away the long and exasperated sigh he gets out of Harry.

“Just… tell me her name, please. Or I’ll just give her a new one.”

“Don’t you dare,” he snarls, bending down to kiss the top of Calanthe’s head. “Her name’s Calanthe.”

Something akin to awe twists the line of Harry’s face, and he hums in appreciation. “I like it.”

Glancing up at Harry, Louis wets his lips. “Don’t care, didn’t ask.”

That startles a laugh out of Harry, who sighs and stands up, hitching up his satchel on his shoulder. He bends down and caresses Calanthe’s cheek with his forefinger, the digit alone almost big enough to cover half of her head, then he’s looking at Louis as if he wanted to say something but thinks better of it, and instead he makes his way to the door. He opens it but just before walking through, he stops, ringed fingers on the doorknob. He doesn’t even glance over his shoulder as he talks.

“I’m coming back tomorrow,” his deep voice drawls out, and before the dramatic and loud _‘No’_ that intends to rip free from Louis’ throat, can spill out from his lips, Harry is gone, the door clicking shut gently after him.

Louis sighs.

  
  


-

  
  


Louis doesn’t mean to let it become a routine, but to be honest he isn’t even sure of how it comes down to that. Harry somehow has taken to coming over at Louis’ several times in the weeks, and no matter how much Louis complains about it, Harry keeps doing it, claiming that he has a custody claim over Calanthe. Louis nearly stabs Harry with his 6-inch Louboutin.

The only moment of peace Louis has is when Harry is off to work, and since he works from home two-third of the time, he gets to spend some time alone with his girl without a six feet tall idiot roaming around his flat. The only positive thing out of the whole situation is the food Harry always brings whenever he shows up on Louis’ doorsteps, and, well, food is food and Louis would rather be thrown out of the window than be found turning down food. It’s probably Harry’s way to bribe Louis into letting him inside, and the worst is, it’s _working._ Louis has seen Harry in the past two weeks more than he’s seen his best friend, Zayn. (Well, it isn’t surprising seeing as Zayn is in Beijing, but even then they usually FaceTime everyday, which makes Zayn the person he sees the most. Usually).

Calanthe has been doing amazing, recovering quickly. She is active and loves running everywhere, which she does surprisingly well despite her missing leg. More than once Louis was left with his mouth hung open, watching as she effortlessly propels herself onto the couch or pieces of furniture. Most of the time he can’t help himself from grabbing her and pressing kisses on her tiny face, whispering how proud he is of her. He gets a paw in his face whenever it happens, seeing as she is a diva and doesn’t like to be touched unless she asks for it, but it doesn’t dampen Louis’ love for her. If anything, he loves her even more, because in a way she is so alike to him.

Harry once said Louis’ bratty attitude was rubbing off Calanthe. In revenge, Louis put a tablespoon of salt in Harry’s cup of tea (his face was priceless).

Thick clouds block the sunlight from filtering through, and Louis grumbles under his breath, glaring at whatever and whoever he sees. He has just come back from a meeting with one of Zayn’s partners, and it didn’t go as planned. Not only was the guy a giant prick, refusing to listen to Louis’ concepts and ideas, but he also downright insulted Louis’ work. It took every nerve in Louis’ body not to stab the guy with his spoon. He kicks a pebble, watching as it ricochets against the wall. He ducks his head and speeds up, thinking of only one thing; cuddling with Calanthe on the couch, with a steaming cup of tea. It doesn’t take long for him to see the tip of his building's nose, and he hurries until he’s stepping through the entrance, spotting Paul lazily watching two people arguing in front of him.

“You don’t understand,” a short guy with blonde hair says, thrusting a finger at the taller man next to him, who is in his underwear. “He bothers me at night! I can’t sleep if that imbecile keeps having loud sex at two in the fucking morning!”

Paul coughs, the tip of his ears turning red. “That’s a problem only the landlord can solve, not me, the janitor.”

The short man throws his hands in the air. “Well, Mr. Fucking Weasley is not _there,_ and I refuse to wait another sleepless night for him to do his job!”

Louis scoffs and makes a beeline for the stairs. He practically runs to his flat, getting his keys out and unlocking his door. Instantly, there’s a ball of black fur rushing to him, and the first smile of the day appears on his face as Calanthe struggles stopping in her tracks and ends up headbutting his ankle. She sits on her bum and looks up at him, blinking her big yellow eyes in confusion, before she’s meowing loudly, asking to be picked up. He bends down and puts his hands around her, straightening up and burying his nose in her soft fur.

“Hi, baby,” he coos, shrugging off his coat while holding the kitten. She noses at the crook of his arm, one of her paws hanging in the air, her cheek squished. He giggles as she starts dozing off, and he goes on about his business, albeit with more difficulty than usual with a kitten in his arms. He instantly feels better now that he has Calanthe with him, but there’s still the uncomfortable itching in the back of his head, replaying the meeting time and time again. He knows that all he has to do to get the asshole in trouble, is to tell Zayn what happened, but he doesn’t want to earn the respect of others by complaining to Zayn who is — technically — his boss. He doesn’t remove his makeup, feeling the thick mascara on his eyelashes as he blinks. He looks down at a sleepy Calanthe.

“Wanna eat Chinese?” he asks her, and though he wasn’t expecting an answer, he’s pleased when he gets a purr in return. His sweet, clever girl. He kisses her little nose and opens the fridge, scanning its content and pulling out the leftovers from Harry’s last visit. There’s definitely too much in the container, but he still pops it all in the microwave. While the machine warms his food up, he checks on his emails, rolling his eyes when he sees a mail from the prick waiting in his box. He is tempted to respond back with a very aggressively written piece of his mind, but instead he ignores the mail and fetches his food.

He is halfway through it when a tear goes down his cheek and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. What the fuck? Usually, he doesn’t care when someone expresses their dislike in his work, but somehow this time it really got to him. He sniffs and blinks rapidly, cursing himself for having left his mascara on when he catches his sight in the reflective door of the microwave. The mascara has smudged around his eyes and he groans out loud. Calanthe, who is still lying in his arms, looks up at him.

“I’m fine,” he says, sniffing again. “Totally, perfectly fine!”

Another wave of sobs threatens to drown him when a knock echoes around his flat. He glances at the clock mounted on the wall. 19:36. He knows it’s Harry, since he usually comes around at that hour of the day, after having finished work and showered. He starts to panic because he doesn’t want Harry to see him in such a state and he didn’t shower and oh my _god_ he is a mess—

“Louis?” Harry calls out, his loud voice carrying the words through the thick door. “I know you’re here!”

 _Yes!_ Louis thinks bitterly, stuffing another mouthful of sticky rice in his mouth. _And I don’t want to see you!_

Another applause of knocks makes Louis stand up, pushing his stool back, and he marches to the door half-forgetting that he has mascara all over his face. _Screw it,_ he decides, as he unlocks the door and throws it open, finding Harry waiting with a bag of _Dunkin’ Donuts._ He eyes the greasy bag, and decides that he has changed his mind; actually, he is glad to see Harry. Before Harry can open his mouth, he snatches the bag away from his grasp and is making his way back to the kitchen table.

Harry scoffs, shaking his head. “Good evening to you too, Louis. I hope you had a great day! If you’re wondering, _my_ day was wonderful!” he exclaims, sarcastic. Then he continues in his usual voice, fondness coating it in a gooey layer. “And here’s my girl!”

Harry makes grabby hands for Calanthe, and Louis narrows his eyes at him.

“Touch a _single_ hair on her head and I’ll have your body buried six-feet underground faster than you can say _hello._ ”

That only makes Harry roll his eyes as he crowds Louis against the table. They’re close now, and Louis’ breath gets caught in his throat as Harry looks down at him, his green eyes vibrant. Louis quickly looks away as Harry caresses Calanthe, checking her wound as he always does. He hums to himself, something that Louis has understood by then means that nothing is amiss, and a little smile makes its way onto his face. He focuses his entire attention on Calanthe lest he’d start thinking about the heat coming off Harry’s body, cocooning them.

“She’s doing perfectly fine,” Harry informs him, his lips twitching. His eyes fall again on Louis, knowing. “You, not so much.”

Just like that, the moment is broken and with a grimace, Louis kicks Harry in the tibia, glaring at the taller man.

“Mind your damn business,” he snaps, and with one hand he opens the bag of donuts and grabs one, stuffing his face, his cheeks puffing out as he chews. Harry watches him, an expression on his face which he can’t read. Not that he cares. Now that Harry has brought him food and has seen Calanthe, he can fuck off. His job here is done.

Instead, of course, because nothing ever goes Louis’ way, Harry sits on one of the stools around the kitchen counter. Harry is tall enough that both of his feet are touching the ground, something that Louis has never had the pleasure of experiencing, being short enough to be able to swing his legs to and fro when he is sitting on a stool. He chews a chocolate donut, well-aware that frosting has gotten on his lips and chin but he just… doesn’t care. Harry doesn’t seem to mind it either, and doesn't seem to find Louis repulsive as he leans back against the stool, his appraising eyes on Louis.

With his mouth full, Louis speaks. “Stop looking at me.”

“It’s rude to speak with your mouth full,” Harry brushes aside, cocking his head. “Why have you been crying?”

Louis stops chewing, the donut frozen mid-air. He slowly puts it down, using his tongue to lick his chocolate-covered fingers. When he looks at Harry, he sees that the taller man has got a slight blush on the apples of his cheeks, and that his eyes have darkened. 

He sighs. “I’ve told you, it has nothing to do with you.”

Harry hums and narrows his eyes. “Excuse me for being a decent human being and caring about someone who so obviously isn’t doing fine.”

There’s silence then. Louis widens his eyes in disbelief, stroking Calanthe’s back. 

“You care about me?” he asks, his voice soft, and he sees the moment that Harry realizes what he said, his face going blank as he blinks. Harry grimaces, crossing his arms over his chest.

He shrugs. “It’s just, being negative and crying around Calanthe is a bad thing. Your bad mood will rub on her,” he stops, floundering. “And why do I have to explain myself for asking someone if they’re doing alright? Jesus. Give her to me, please.”

Harry rolls his eyes and stands up, his socked feet making no noises as he advances towards Louis. Then, with his big hands he grabs Calanthe, who yowls as she’s lifted in the air but immediately settles down when Harry puts her against his chest. Louis can’t even find it in himself to complain, or snap, or do something about his baby being taken away from him. He’s still replaying Harry’s words in his head. Wordlessly, he watches as Harry drops a kiss on Calanthe’s forehead, taking a step back and away from Louis.

 _Snap out of it,_ Louis tells himself.

“Go take a shower,” Harry tells him, rocking Calanthe left to right. There’s a smirk on his face. “You stink.”

Louis then starts to move, gasping when Harry’s words register to his brain. 

“Fuck you,” Louis says without heat. “Don’t steal my cat or I’ll have your head!”

Then he goes to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him. He leans back against it, closing his eyes for several seconds. He doesn’t like Harry Styles. He can’t like Harry Styles! He is a pain in Louis’ ass and nothing more, and he manages to convince himself that the only thing keeping them somewhat at peace is Calanthe. He huffs as he strips naked, glancing at himself in the mirror and wincing when he sees the smudged mascara and his red-brimmed eyes. He doesn’t hesitate to turn the water to steaming hot, washing himself clean and rubbing his darkened eyes with a makeup wipe until they’re free of product. 

He wishes Zayn were here. Then, he’d had someone to talk to, to complain about his life with. But his best friend has been so incredibly busy that Louis understands having to go a bit more days without him. Zayn hasn’t told him when he’ll be back, and he often never does, preferring scaring the shit out of Louis by barging in Louis’ flat with his New York-blinding smile.

What an asshole, Louis thinks fondly. An asshole that he misses very much.

When he comes out of the shower, the mirrors are fogged up and his skin is a lovely rosy colour from being scrubbed. He ties his towel around his chest and steps out, changing in his bedroom into his pyjamas, a pastel yellow tank-top with the matching booty shorts. He doesn’t even care if they’re too short. Harry has seen him in them before, so he slips on a pair of fuzzy socks and makes his way back to the living room.

He finds Harry on the couch, his big feet propped on the coffee table and crossed at the ankles. Calanthe is lying on Harry’s thighs, where they are pressed close together, her paws in the air. _The Queen’s Gambit_ is playing on the television screen, and Louis scoffs loudly when he spots Harry eating _his_ food.

He plops down on the empty side of the couch, keeping a good distance between them. “That’s my food.”

Harry doesn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. “I bought it.”

“It’s still mine,” Louis whines, making grabby hands for the container. Harry sighs and passes it over, and once the food is between Louis’ hands he blinks down. “You’ve put your germs all over the food.”

Harry snorts but doesn’t say anything else, and after spending much too long squinting at the mess of rice and chicken, and pondering on whether he has enough strength left in him to stand up and fetch another fork that hasn’t got Harry’s saliva all over it, he decides that he is much too comfortable to even consider moving. He stabs through a piece of chicken and puts it in his mouth.

They don’t talk for the rest of the night, though at one point Calanthe jumps off Harry to snuggle down against Louis’ chest, going back to sleep. And it doesn’t take long after Harry’s departure for Louis to fall into his own world full of dreams, coloured into a familiar hue of green.

  
  


-

  
  


Louis cuts another piece of cake and places it on a plate, giving it to a man who nods his gratitude before walking off to one of the available tables. He repeats the action, making small talk when the person before him is willing and cleaning the blade every once in a while to make clean cuts.

He feels someone come up next to him, then a large hand darts to the tissue roll, giving tissues away alongside the plates Louis distributes. He glances to the side, watching as Harry’s dimples appear whenever he smiles. They haven’t really talked for a few days, what with Harry being particularly busy at the clinic and Louis nearly ripping his hair out designing clothes for a game that takes place in the Middle Ages. It’s the first time they’ve been together for a bit, and somehow Louis finds himself feeling oddly on edge, and he has no bloody idea of why.

At one point there’s a break, everyone having gotten their food, and Louis fully expects for Harry to go back to the savoury table but instead, the curly-haired man stays close to Louis, not quite looking at the smaller man.

Harry’s dressed rather well, Louis notes. His denim jeans are thick and hug his thighs, and he’s got a thin black shirt with a thick leather jacket on top. His black Dr Martens make him even taller, and Louis has to actually _crane_ his neck to be able to fully look Harry in the face. He sighs and busies himself by cutting even more brownies and cakes. _What does he want?_ Louis wonders, heaving another sigh when he feels Harry practically breathing down his neck.

“If I’m bothering you,” Harry begins with amusement in his voice. “You can just tell me.”

Louis shakes his head, huffing, though the smile twitching his lips is treacherous. He turns sideways so he’s facing Harry, his hand on the table supporting his weight while the other one is on his cocked hip.

“You,” Louis begins, holding himself back from thrusting his finger in Harry’s chest. “Are bothering me.”

He doesn’t expect the cocky smile that appears on Harry’s face (though he should have), nor the unsubtle once over he gets from Harry’s eyes. He simultaneously wants to poke those green irises and melt under the intensity of the gaze.

“How’s Calanthe?” Harry wonders genuinely, his brows furrowing in a frown. 

Louis pictures Calanthe running after him all around the flat, snarling and asking for more food. He also thinks of her pawing at the window when a butterfly had decided to rest on the surface, and he can’t help but smile as he remembers waking up to fur in his mouth, realizing that Calanthe had decided to literally sit on his forehead, her big yellow eyes looking down at him, paws on his lips.

His voice has gone fond when he starts to speak. “She’s doing… wonderful. She runs absolutely everywhere and she loves playing hide and seek and she’s so clever and lovely.” Louis sighs happily, already yearning for her, and he can’t wait to get home to cuddle with her on the couch while she kneads Louis’ chest gently with her paws. She’s become such a big part of his life, and he knows he will forever be glad for it.

“So,” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. Louis ignores the way his biceps bulge. “You won’t mind if I come by later?”

Yes, Louis minds it very much. He tells Harry as such as someone appears in front of the table, a woman with gorgeous red hair and thick lines of eyeliner on each of her eyes. She smiles weakly at him, her eyes glancing several times at the strawberry cake.

“Want a slice?” he asks although he’s already putting a piece on his thick knife and dropping it in a paper plate, which he tops with a spoon before passing it over to her. She jerks her head at him in gratitude before proceeding to the tables, and Louis watches her go with a small smile.

He glances back at Harry, who is already looking at him, his face unreadable. It’s unsettling, to say the least, but Louis doesn’t let himself read too much into it. He’s come, over the few weeks he has had to bear Harry’s presence, to know that Harry tends to zone out, or loses himself to his own thoughts. More often than not, Louis shrugs it off as Harry being weird, and he uses those rare moments to steal Calanthe from Harry (which _is_ usually when Harry snaps out of his daydream, frowning when he realizes Calanthe is no longer on him). But as of now, he doesn’t have a bratty kitten to disturb Harry with, and he hardly thinks that stabbing Harry with the kitchen knife he’s holding will go smoothly. The blood will be a tremendous pain in the ass to clean, and, well, he doesn’t fancy going to prison.

So he passes his finger across the knife’s flat side, gathering pink cake frosting, then he smudges it on the tip of Harry’s nose, his finger making a trail down Harry’s cheek, and he giggles as Harry blinks and leans his head back, his hand automatically coming up to touch his wet nose.

“Really?” he asks, exasperated, as he snaps a tissue off the table and cleans himself. 

“Stop getting lost in that messy head of yours and go back to helping James,” is all Louis says as he puts his sweet finger in his mouth, lapping up the remaining bits of frosting. Harry’s eyes darken, but he takes a deep breath and plasters on a smile. He turns around, ready to go back to the savoury section.

“The only thing that’s messy is your bedroom,” Louis hears Harry mutter, and he nearly hurls an orange cake at Harry’s head. Instead he settles on glaring at that ridiculous curly-haired idiot, turning around and huffing. His bedroom is _not_ messy. It’s just decorated differently than the norm.

He catches Leslie’s eyes and sees her knowing smile. Knowing for what, he doesn’t know, but he makes sure to stick his tongue out at her.

  
  


-

  
  


Louis has no _fucking_ idea of what exactly it is that he is looking at, but he’s considering finding his box of matches and setting the offending, ugly as shit thing he is holding on fire. The piece of fabric is bright neon green, and when he unfolds it and holds it up to his face, his eyes nearly water at the horrendous… _whatever_ that’s on the front. On the sweater is written ‘stay away from toxic people’, and underneath it there’s a suspicious-looking dog holding in its mouth a sign with ‘you’ve got issues’ embroidered within it. Louis knows it belongs to Harry, he’s seen the man walks in his flat _wearing_ it, and Louis practically kicked Harry out, screaming bloody murder.

Harry had willingly removed the ugly sweater before entering Louis’ flat, though it seems he’s forgotten it behind, in Louis’ _bedroom,_ and he just can’t believe his luck. _Well, screw you Styles,_ he thinks bitterly, balling the sweater. _You will never, ever see this ugly piece of trash._

He means to throw it in the bin, or better yet, light it on fire except Louis makes the mistake of inhaling the sweater’s alluring scent, a mixture of Harry’s cologne and laundry detergent, and he has no idea of what overtakes him but before he can make sense of his life, he’s got the sweater on and he’s standing in front of his body-length mirror.

It’s just… the sweater is so soft, and it is three times too big on him, and he likes oversized clothes. He can’t possibly be blamed for trying it on, and it smells nice, alright, not that Louis is admitting that Harry smells nice because that would be a catastrophe, but. He’s only human. He sighs as he lets his body drop back onto the bed, his arms spread on either side, his hands making sweater paws. The sweater reaches him mid-thigh, making a makeshift dress on him. He might not like how it looks, but he sure does love how it feels.

Stupid Harry bringing horrible clothes in Louis’ humble abode. He sighs as he hears a little mewl, then feels something fall onto the bed. Then, as he opens his eyes, he meets Calanthe’s big yellow eyes, blinking down at him. 

“What?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as Calanthe meows again, this time climbing up Louis’ chest and spreading her tiny body across the sweater, purring. “Oh my god, babe,” he chuckles, his hand coming up to stoke one of her paws.

They stay like that for a while, and he must dozes off because at one point he wakes up to the smell of food in the air and he starts to worry that someone broke into his flat. He realizes Calanthe is no longer on his chest and he sits up, alarmed. What the fuck? He jumps off the bed and grabs the first thing that meets his hand — which turns out to be a ten-inch long dildo — and creeps down the corridor, and to the kitchen. He pokes his head out, and blinks in confusion when he sees a tall, thin figure standing in front of the stove, a cooking spoon in hand.

“And do you want to know what she told me, that bitch?” Zayn asks Calanthe, looking at her with a serious expression as she blinks up at the dark-haired man, before going back to licking her paw. “She told me the concepts were outdated! _Outdated,_ Kitty, can you believe it? This type of game will go viral, I’m telling you, and I will develop it regardless of what _Piper McDonald_ fucking think.”

Louis fish-mouths, stepping fully into the living room, the dildo falling to the ground.

“Zayn?” He squeals, a smile spreading across his face as Zayn whips around. Zayn himself starts to smile and before he can properly register that _ohmygod Zayn is here_ he is sprinting across the living room and jumping into his best friend’s arms. “Oh my god!” he shouts, laughing and tightening his grip around Zayn’s neck. “What the fuck Zayn?”

Zayn struggles holding him up, and he has even more difficulty spitting out his answer. “Babe,” he wheezes, patting Louis’ back. “Can’t breathe—”

“Oh,” Louis loosens his arms and leans back, taking in Zayn’s red face. “Sorry?”

That startles a breathless laugh out of Zayn, who drops Louis back down and takes Louis in a proper hug (one which doesn’t involve choking the other one). They sway in place like that for a while, until Calanthe meows at the same time a loud bubbly noise reaches them. Zayn curses and turns around, turning off the stove and peering down at the bolognese sauce he was preparing.

“Thanks, kitty,” Zayn strokes Calanthe’s head, before focusing his attention back on Louis. “I don’t know where you found her, but she’s a clever little thing.”

Louis can’t help it when he puffs his chest out in pride, grabbing Calanthe and pressing kisses on top of her head. She uses her front paws to push his face away. “That’s my girl!”

Zayn looks at them, curious. “I know for a fact she wasn’t there when I left for China, so, mind explaining?”

Louis hums and nods to the couches, and Zayn goes to them, dropping his body on the leather. Louis sits down too, putting Calanthe on his lap. She huffs but ends up kneading his belly, her claws sticking to the sweater’s fabric. “I found her in the street. She was probably abandoned, you know, and I just… couldn’t let her out there, alone, in the cold. She was wounded, so I took her to a veterinary clinic, where they had to amputate her leg and ever since she’s been mine. She’s an angel, and so strong too.”

He coos down at her, and Zayn smiles fondly.

“Yeah, well,” Zayn begins, scratching the hair on his chin. “She’s a much better listener than you, that’s for sure.”

Louis pretends to be offended. “Fuck you,” he says, though they both laugh, and it feels so good to have his best friend back, to have a bit of familiarity slips back into his life. Between having a pet and an annoying neighbour, he’s been needing it.

“You still love catching me off guard whenever you come back from your fancy trips, I see,” he tells Zayn, raising an eyebrow when his black-haired best friend scoffs.

 _“Fancy,”_ Zayn grimaces. “It was shit. The team I met there was everything I hated in a team, so needless to say I spent most of my days nearly ripping my hair out.”

“How unfortunate,” Louis teases, and Zayn snorts, and they don’t talk for a while after that, content to be in each other’s presence. But then Zayn breaks the silence, a frown on his face.

“I do have one more question to ask, and I think that’s the most important one yet.”

Louis cocks his head, urging Zayn on.

“Where the fuck did you find that ugly-ass sweater?”

  
  


-

  
  


Explaining to Zayn who Harry Styles is turns out to be a near-impossible affair, especially since Louis wants Zayn to understand that he doesn’t like Harry Styles but he still lets the man come to his flat. For Calanthe. It sounds dumb and Zayn blinks at him in confusion for a while, fork full of pasta hanging mid-air as he tries to process what Louis has just told him.

“If I remember correctly, he’s the one who stopped your laundry mid-cycle, and he’s also the one who stole your ice cream,” Zayn narrows his eyes, chewing slowly. Louis hums.

“And he was the one to take care of Calanthe when you found her, and ever since he’s been coming to your flat, to play with her?” Zayn’s voice is dripping with disbelief.

“He claims custody,” Louis shrugs, cleaning his plate and filling it again with more pasta, more sauce and more cheese.

“Right,” Zayn drawls, drawing circles in the air with his fork while gesturing towards Louis. “And you hate him.”

Louis hums.

Zayn’ eyes twitch. “You hate him but you’re wearing his sweater.”

Louis hums, stuffing his mouth with food, but then he frowns and backtracks, shaking his head furiously. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he manages to get out despite his stuffed mouth, and Zayn grimaces at his antics.

“Right,” Zayn shakes his head. “This is weird. And you said he brought you food and sometimes even does your laundry? But he does all of these things because he hates _you?”_

Louis hums. He’s glad Zayn got it so quickly since he doesn’t feel like explaining it all again, so he gets a few words out, hoping to end the conversation. “The food is his way to bribe me into letting him see Calanthe, and he does my laundry because he considers me a danger to the well-being of the utility room. He’s a fucking asshole.”

He keeps eating, unaware of Zayn’s exasperated face, or the tiredly muttered _please Jesus, take me back to China._

  
  


-

  
  


When Zayn meets Harry, it doesn’t go quite as Louis had planned it. Ever since he’s come back from China, Zayn has taken to staying over at Louis’, which means that they start to fight. A lot. They’re wrestling on the ground as a knock echoes around the flat, and Louis throws his elbow back into Zayn’s side, just as Zayn uses his big foot to pin Louis down.

 _“I_ deserve the last Magnum, you ass,” Zayn snarls, groaning in pain when Louis manages to send his knee forward, straight into Zayn’s crotch. But then Zayn pinches Louis’ nipple and a girly squeal spills out from his lips, and before he can retaliate the door is banging open and Harry rushes inside, the alarmed expression on his face morphing into one of confusion.

“Louis?” his deep voice echoes around the room, and it doesn’t take long for Harry to school his expression into a blank one as Louis pushes Zayn’s face away, using it as leverage to propel his body up.

Louis clears his throat, a blush creeping up his chest and to his cheeks. For God’s sake, why did Harry have to come by when Louis is making an ass out of himself? He rubs the back of his neck as an embarrassed giggle spills out from his lips, and soon enough Zayn is coming up behind him, his black hair in disarray.

“Hm,” Louis is kind-of at loss of words. Thankfully, Zayn steps forward and offers his hand for Harry to shake, which he does albeit his eyes keep glancing between Louis and Zayn. Louis half-wants to snap at him, but he decides to focus on getting his laboured breath under control.

“I’m Zayn.”

Harry nods, wetting his lips. “Harry.”

A flash of recognition strikes Zayn’s features, before he’s nodding and glancing over his shoulder at Louis.

“Babe, I have uh, toothpaste to buy. I’ll see you in a few hours!” 

Then Zayn is rushing out of the door, throwing a wink over his shoulder that Harry, thankfully, doesn’t see. Louis is going to murder Zayn, he swears to god, and he quickly walks past Harry to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of orange juice. He can’t believe Zayn left him on his own like that.

“Do you want some, hm,” he waves the bottle in the air and Harry nods, walking over to one of the stools and sitting down. His eyes don’t leave Louis as he grabs two glasses and fills them with juice.

“So,” Harry begins nonchalantly. “Zayn?”

Louis frowns, not understanding why Harry is asking about his best friend, but he shrugs it off. “Yeah, he’s been back from a business trip to China several days ago.”

Just then, Calanthe runs to Harry and stops, meowing loudly, practically shouting at the top of her lungs for Harry to pick her up. A beaming smile appears on Harry’s face as he bends down and cradles her to his chest, and Louis wants to pout because his baby likes his enemy, and he feels betrayed. 

Harry straightens up and looks at Louis, and Louis hastily turns around to grab the glasses, frowning at himself because why does he feel so weird? He slides one of the glasses across the counter, and Harry grabs it. He tilts the glass towards Louis in gratitude before taking a long sip from it, smiling around the edge of the glass when Calanthe stands up, her front paws leaning against Harry’s chest, her big yellow eyes on the orange liquid.

Harry stops drinking, licking his lips, and glances down at Calanthe. “You can’t drink that, darling.”

Louis bites his lips and decides to fill a little bowl with water, going around the counter to get closer to the kitten. Or Harry. He gulps and mentally scolds himself. Harry quickly catches on what he wants to do, and he puts Calanthe up on the counter as Louis places the bowl of water in front of her, and after sniffing at the clear liquid she starts to drink, tiny red tongue going in and out of her mouth, lapping up the water. They both watch her, not saying anything, from time to time drinking a bit of orange juice. It’s awkward, to say the least.

“Right, hm,” Harry clears his throat, standing up. He goes to the sink and quickly washes his glass, letting it dry on the steel dish rack. “I can tell Calanthe is doing amazing. She's healing nicely. I have some work to do, so I’ll see you soon?”

Louis only nods, and on that Harry disappears through the door, leaving Louis alone and confused with his own thoughts.

  
  


-

  
  


Winter takes time to go away, and its peak leaves Louis breathless as he hurries down the street, bringing his coat closer to himself. The damp ground renders his toes cold, and he regrets not putting thicker boots. He feels weird, somehow. His nose is stuffy and his eyes keep watering, and he honest-to-god wants to throw a giant tantrum. He’s about to round the corner when he collides with someone, large hands grabbing him around the waist seconds before he falls. He breathes out a startled sigh, and looks up just in time to catch Harry’s surprised face before it morphs into one of worry.

“Louis,” he says, frowning as he steps back with his hands still on Louis’ waist, quickly dropping them when he realizes where they are. “Are you alright?”

 _No,_ he thinks weakly, blushing and glancing to the side. People hurry by them, too busy and preoccupied to pay them any mind. He finds it odd that it’s in Harry, of all people, that he had to bump randomly, but then he glances over Harry’s shoulder and spots the clinic. He gulps and jerks his head, curling his fingers into fists, trying to seek a bit more warmth. He forces himself not to think about how comfortable he felt when he was in Harry’s arms.

 _What the fuck, Louis? What the fuck!_ He panics and fails to answer, and it must worry Harry because then a large palm is being pressed against his forehead, his fringe having been brushed to the side, and Harry frowns even more.

“Jesus, Louis, you’re burning up,” he looks displeased, and somehow Louis is on the receiving line of a glare, and what? Why is Harry mad all of a sudden? Before Louis can speak up his mind, Harry is grabbing his elbow and dragging him to a shiny, sleek black Range Rover. Maybe he should scream out, act as if he were being kidnapped, but in the end he allows himself to be guided to Harry’s fancy car, and he doesn’t even protest when Harry opens the door for him. “I’ll take you home, or else you might die out there in this cold.”

Louis raises an eyebrow and waits for Harry to round the car and jumps in the driver seat. They buckle their seat belt, and Louis turns sideways, sniffing and narrowing his eyes at Harry, who is busy messing with the heater. A wave of warm air makes Louis relax back into the cushioned seat. 

“So,” Louis begins, fighting a smile. “You don’t want me to actually die out there?”

Harry puts the car into reverse and gets out of his parking spot, frowning.

“I know I’m not your biggest fan, but c’mon, are you seriously asking me that?” he huffs, speeding up to a traffic-light. 

“Well, think about it,” Louis says as he sniffs again and rubs his tired eyes. He doesn’t let himself get hurt about the _'_ _not your biggest fan’._ It’s not like Louis likes Harry, anyway, so mutual dislike is more than alright. He manages to keep the hurt out of his voice as he continues speaking. Hell, he even manages to sound teasing, even though he feels like he’s caught his death and even though he wants to smack the shit out of Harry (which he won’t do because he doesn’t want to die in a car accident). “If I die, you can have Calanthe all for yourself.”

The light turns green, and Louis has to admire how comfortable (and hot)(though he refuses to acknowledge that thought) Harry looks while driving. It’s obvious he is a competent driver, even though he is driving a big car. Louis sucks at it, which is precisely why he never drives and has thrown his driving license at the bottom of a drawer, never to be found again. He admires those who are agile with such a big piece of metal. But then suddenly, Harry makes a show of slowing down, and when Louis glances over again after having focused on the landscape, he finds Harry smirking.

“Didn’t think of that,” he says, scrunching up his nose. “You’re more than welcome to go back out there. I’ll be checking the news first thing in the morning.”

Louis rolls his eyes and reaches over to pinch Harry’s arm, which doesn’t do anything since Harry’s wearing a thick coat, but it still gets his sentiment across. Harry guffaws and speeds up again when a car honks behind them, and it takes them fifteen minutes to reach their building, because of traffic and the red lights, when by foot it would have taken only ten. 

“Why do you take the car when your clinic is so close to where you live?” Louis asks, curious. 

“The weather’s shitty, I just didn’t fancy walking in the cold and, potentially, the rain. Even for just ten minutes.”

Louis nods. Fair enough.

Harry pulls in the building’s underground parking smoothly, and once the beast of a car is parked Louis jumps out of it, nearly falling forward because _dear god_ that car is high. He catches Harry smirking to himself, and Louis really wants to wipe that smug look off Harry’s face.

They make their way to the elevator, the steel box taking a few seconds to open, but when it does Harry gestures for Louis to enter. Louis has to hold back a grimace. He’s never particularly been fond of elevators, imagining all kinds of horrifying scenarios about them. Harry seems to echo his thought, scrunching up his nose himself as he presses the button for his floor, which, what? Louis’ flat is a floor below, and he’s about to point it out when Harry beats him to it.

“I have some leftover scotch broth,” he says gently, glancing at Louis in reassurance. “It’ll warm you up. I also don’t trust you to have all the medicines you need to take care of yourself.”

Louis simultaneously blushes, because Harry is being nice and he’s not used to it, and scoffs because he has all he needs back at his flat, thank you very much. But he doesn’t comment on it as they go up, and when the double doors slide open, Harry lets Louis go first once again, ever the gentleman, and Louis hurries forward. He waits for the tall man to join him and shows him the way since he doesn’t know which is Harry’s flat.

Harry whistles as he pulls his keys out and goes for flat 364, and Louis crosses his arms, unsure. Does he want to go into Harry’s flat? Hell yes, maybe he will find something ridiculous and worth bullying him over, but something within him also wants to run back to his own flat and have his Calanthe with him. He’s always been the kind of person to yearn for the familiarity of his own things, to need, after a while, to come back to the things he knows. But he swallows it down and figures he’ll get out of Harry’s flat as soon as possible. He mentally goes through his morning, and he internally sighs in relief when he remembers giving her enough food and water to last the day.

Seeing Harry Styles’ flat isn’t something grandiose; frankly, the first thing he notices is the overwhelming amount of scented candles, strewn across the room. If they were to be lit up all at once, the smell would be what Louis imagines a unicorn’s fart to smell like. He holds himself back from laughing as he rubs his pink nose and blink the wetness in his eyes away, without much success. The layout is identical to his flat, and there are things he can see in Harry’s flat that are much the same as his own; the shoes lining up against the wall, the ridiculous amount of fridge magnets, the bookshelves to the left crammed with romance novels and vinyls, as well as beautiful antique wooden-made statuettes, and Louis’ eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he spots a sleek vinyl player on a smaller piece of furniture. 

Louis loves it all, to be honest. It’s clean, well-furnished and homely. On the coffee table, there’s an empty mug waiting to be swept away and cleaned, stacks of old newspapers (because of _course_ Harry reads newspapers, and it makes Louis smile) and magazines. The couches are filled with pillows and besides the vinyl records in the bookshelves, some old ones are also on the walls, adding a nice touch to the overall decoration.

He practically jumps on the vinyl player as he crouches down and admires it. It’s a _Linn,_ a beautiful model made of polished wood but he keeps his hands to himself. When he glances over his shoulder, he finds Harry standing behind him, a small smile on his face.

“You can choose something to play,” he says as his big hand reaches past Louis to turn the vinyl player on. “In the meantime, I’ll heat up some scotch broth and fetch some medicine.”

If Louis expects for Harry to walk back to the kitchen right away, he’s mistaken, and his eyes widen slightly as, after fiddling with the machine, his hand comes to rest on Louis’ forehead. The disapproving look that falls upon Harry’s face confuses Louis. He’s not used to being taken care of by anyone else but Zayn, and even then his best friend isn’t always there, frequently busy with his flourishing business. He blinks in surprise when Harry straightens up, his face going blank, and he's left to watch Harry’s broad back as he walks away. How does one change mood so fast? One moment, Harry has got that signature soft smile on his face (and surprisingly, most of the times they’re directed at Louis), and the next he’s back to showing nothing, lips in a neutral position and green eyes blank. It’s almost as if he were reminding himself that Louis and he aren’t friends.

Louis nearly scoffs. Harry isn’t bad, that’s what he’s come to realize after a while, but he doubts Harry considers him as more than the annoying neighbor who dumped his clothes in the snow. He tries not to dwell on… everything, really, as he goes to Harry’s vinyl records collection. He cracks a smile as he spots classics such as ABBA, Whitney Houston, The Rolling Stones, John Lee Hooker, and more modern music such as Britney Spears, Adele, or M.I.A. His finger caresses the row of records until he stops on Grease’s entire soundtrack album. With his tongue trapped between his teeth, he delicately takes it out of the shelf and places it over the record player, and the first notes of _Grease_ by Frankie Valli fills the air, and Louis can’t help the giggle from spilling out from his lips.

_I solve my problems and I see the light_

_We gotta plug and think, we gotta feed it right_

Louis bops his head as he spins around and joins Harry to the kitchen, who, he finds, is trying to fight back a smile.

“Interesting choice,” Harry nods his head, humming along to the music, going as far as singing _It's got groove it's got meaning, Grease is the time, is the place is the motion,_ and Louis joins, and soon enough they’re singing at the top of their lungs and Louis is sure one of their neighbours scream through the wall for them to shut the fuck up. They don’t, and it’s amusing to watch Harry as he swings his hips, terribly off beat, while trying to take the bowls of soup out of the microwave without burning himself.

At one point Louis has to sit down, though, as he starts to get dizzy just as _you're the one that I want (you are the one I want), Oo-oo-oo, honey_ croons through the speakers. Harry notices and hurries to fill a glass of cool water, which Louis drowns the moment he gets hold of the glass.

“You’re pale,” Harry grits out, urging Louis to eat more of the broth with a gesture of the hand. “Once you’re done you should lie down.”

Louis wants to snap and tell him to stop worrying so much, but he’s so tired that the fight leaves his body. He chews on softened pieces of carrots, and once his bowl is clean, he clears his throat, which feels heavy.

“I should probably go back to my flat, check on Calanthe,” but the moment he stands up he nearly bucks, his knees weak. _What the fuck,_ he thinks, hoisting himself up using the table and slightly panicking as strong arms circle his waist. Harry guides them to the big and comfortable couch, gently pushing Louis down until he’s lying, his head on a pillow.

“You’re too weak to move,” Harry states, hovering over Louis with a frown. “I can check on Calanthe, alright? In the meantime, please, close your eyes and relax. You caught a nasty bug.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, about to ask, who does Harry think he is?, and about to tell him that he feels amazing, but the headache that hits him and the nausea that makes him breath harshly through his nose dissuade him from opening his mouth. Harry might be a doctor for animals, but he’s competent enough to know a thing or two about human beings. Louis nods, screwing his eyes shut as something pounds against his temples, and it’s all a blur after that.

Cindy Bullen’s voice lulls him into sleep, just as he hears the front door of Harry’s flat open and close. He wants to fight his heavy body, wants to stand up and get out of Harry’s hair, but instead he snuggles closer against the soft leather of the couch, pulling tightly the sheet — when did Harry cover him up? He really must be out of it — around himself, then he loses consciousness.

  
  


-

  
  


Waking up in the morning is a bit like coming back from a hangover, though the headache is less painful and the need to vomit less overbearing. Louis blinks his eyes open, squinting as the frosted sunlight falls upon his face. When his eyes fall on the length of his body, he finds Calanthe’s big yellow eyes on him, and a beaming smile appears on his face.

“Hello, my princess,” he coos as he scoops her closer to his face so he can showers kisses on her head. She meows and gently headbutts his cheeks. Then he frowns as he looks around and slowly realizes that the coffee table, or the carpet, or the paintings on the walls are not his. It takes several more minutes for him to remember that he’s at Harry’s flat, and he groans as the memories of last night flood his mind. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, shaking his head to himself. Harry took care of him, for fuck’s sake, and went as far as putting Louis to sleep and going to his flat to take care of his kitten, which apparently ended up with him bringing Calanthe back with him. Louis doesn’t complain, or can’t find it in himself to be mad. He’s glad to be able to wake up to his baby, despite the fact that he is sick to the core.

He stands up, Calanthe in his arms, and nearly ransacks the entire flat for a tissue. He blows his nose aggressively, and Calanthe jumps out of his arms then and onto the kitchen’s counter, probably sensing the sickness in Louis. He pouts, because he wants to cuddle with his kitten, but she has different plans as she jumps off the counter and runs everywhere. At any other time Louis would have run after her, knowing she likes being chased, but right now all he can do is drop on a chair and blink at the boxes of medicines that Harry left for him. They’re gathered in a small red basket, and something in Louis warms up at the caring action. Wait. No! He pinches himself as he swallows several pills for headaches and nausea, hoping they will also knock some sense into him.

He can’t begin to be fond of Harry. He tends to steer clear of a lot of things, and unrequited love is one of them. What if Harry doesn’t even like him? What if Harry has a boyfriend, or girlfriend, already? What if Harry isn’t interested in Louis at all, and is being nice only because they’re somewhat friends? What if they’re not even friends, but just acquaintances, and Harry is just being nice because that’s how he is? 

Louis gulps and blows his nose again. Where is Zayn when he needs him the most? He knows his phone is waiting to be picked up and used, but he doesn’t want to call Zayn quite yet. He’s a mess, alright, and he panics even more as he spots a piece of paper on the fridge, the ‘Louis’ written on it catching his attention.

_Hi, Louis. I hope you slept well. I had to leave early for work, but I left some pancakes in the microwave and there’s orange juice in the fridge. Please, don’t drink it cold, maybe leave it out for thirty minutes, or else your throat will riot. I’m bringing food for lunch. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want._

_PS: please don’t mess up my flat._

There’s a badly drawn smiley at the end of the note, and Louis rolls his eyes and glances around. Maybe he will exactly do that; turn Harry’s perfectly clean flat into chaos. He can start by pulling every single piece of clothes out of Harry’s closet, and judge them one by one, before throwing them over his shoulders in a sad pile on the ground. He could also mess with everything in the fridge, which obviously is tidied up in a particular way. So many possibilities, Louis muses, as he stuffs his mouth with sweet, fluffy pancakes.

In the end he only puts on _Gilmore Girls_ and works his way through Harry’s pot of Nutella. He’s also only partially ransacked Harry’s closet, and after a quick shower he’s changed into grey sweatpants that are much too big on him and which he had to tie very tight around his waist, and an oversized tee-shirt with Hot N Hard printed on the back. His feet are propped on the coffee table, and that’s exactly how Harry finds him when he comes back at noon.

Harry drops the white plastic bags full of food on the counter and joins Louis on the couch, raising an eyebrow.

“Comfortable, I see,” his lip twitches, and Louis watches as Harry’s eyes darken when they fall on Louis’ body.

Louis feels himself blush, but he doesn’t let it show too much as he keeps sucking on a spoon full of chocolate paste. At one point, Harry sighs and reaches forward to snatch the spoon away.

“You’re going to kill yourself, eating so much sugar,” he reprimands. “I didn’t even know I had Nutella.”

 _No wonder you didn’t know,_ Louis thinks, _seeing as I found it in the deepest part of the biggest cupboard in the kitchen, behind an army of canned food._ Louis shrugs, takes several seconds to look at the spoon, then proceeds to dip three fingers into the pot, bringing them to his lips so he can lick the chocolate off them. Harry groans.

“What are you, a child?” Harry stands up and tries to grab the pot, except Louis laughs and uses his feet to keep Harry away. It's his Nutella, alright? He actually feels better since he’s started eating it.

Harry doesn’t give up, though, as he grabs Louis’ foot and the fucking bastard starts to tickle it. Louis gasps and laughs until tears stream down his face, flailing around, trying to get Harry off him. His toes curl under the torture, eyes watering. 

“Stop!” Louis shouts, trembling as Harry digs his fingers deeper into his soles.

“Give me the Nutella, and I’ll stop,” Harry grins, and Louis is forced to do it, holding the offending thing out to a smug-looking Harry.

The moment Harry lets go, Louis seizes the opportunity to thrust his toes in Harry’s crotch, hard, and it all kind-of happens in slow motion, then, as Harry bends over in pain and the opened pot of Nutella slips from his fingers, falling on the ground and breaking apart. Louis freezes as the sticky chocolate spills over the white carpet, his hand flying to cover his mouth.

Harry drops next to him on the couch, and stares at the broken pot of Nutella, his large hand still cradling his dick. Louis almost feels bad. Almost.

“This is a fucking joke, right,” Harry scoffs in disbelief, and Louis only shrugs, biting his lips.

“It’s your fault,” he replies, licking the remaining chocolate paste off his fingers.

 _“What?”_ Harry turns to look at him. “You’re the brat who had to hit me in the crotch, what the fuck.”

Louis pokes Harry’s cheek with his spit-coated finger until a dimple reluctantly appears.

“I hate you, Styles,” Louis says lightly, as Harry rubs his temples.

“It’s mutual, Tomlinson.”

They stay on the couch for a while, until Calanthe pokes her head around the loveseat across from them, her eyes on the chocolate. She attempts to eat it but Louis scoops her up before the damage is done, and skips to the kitchen to have a look at the food Harry brought.

He’s stuffing his mouth with rice when Harry comes back and sits down at the table, eyebrows raised when he sees that Louis has actually prepared him a place. When he looks at Louis in question, Louis shrugs and tries not to look too abashed.

“It’s the least I could do, after you’ve helped me out and all.”

Harry jerks his head awkwardly and starts to eat, and Louis isn’t sure whether he should initiate small talk. In the end, it’s Harry who breaks the silence.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, genuine interest in his voice. As if he genuinely cared about Louis, and all that. The idea is nice, Louis tells himself, as he swallows down the food.

“Much better,” he admits, and the relieved smile on Harry’s face is something Louis ends up reading too much into, and he can’t help but wonder whether Harry is relieved that Louis is getting better, or relieved that by getting better it means Louis will be out of his hair faster.

Louis quickly sobers up after that, a bit as if cold water had been thrown over his body, He gulps down a bit of water and stands up, playing with the edge of Harry’s shirt. Fuck. What was he thinking? He is literally wearing Harry’s clothes! Maybe he can pretend he had a very bad fever this morning.

“I think I need to go,” he says, his voice strong even though deep inside he’s crumbling. “I have work to do and I feel infinitely better.”

Harry rubs his jaw as he nods and gathers their empty plates. “If you’re sure you’re feeling better.”

“Yes,” Louis rushes out, a bit too fast and he practically bolts out of the living room and to the bathroom, after having grabbed his clothes from last night. He changes out of Harry’s clothes as if his skin were on fire, and slips his own clothes on, and with trembling fingers he folds Harry’s clothes and leaves them on the bed.

He doesn’t expect to find Harry in the bedroom’s doorway, looking at him with furrowed brows.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Louis hums and smiles tightly, glancing down at the clothes. He frowns.

“Would you like for me to wash the clothes? I’m sorry I took them without asking.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, and with a confused smile he steps forwards and tries to put his hand on Louis’ forehead.

“Did you just apologize? To me? Are you sure you’re not sick anymore?” Harry teases and Louis swaps his hand away, pouting.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Louis tells him, though he cracks a smile as Harry laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, you don’t have to wash my clothes,” he tells Louis, glancing at them. “In fact, I still don’t trust you with the laundry.”

He gives Harry the middle finger as he goes to fetch Calanthe and his bag. He feels slightly better, being teased by Harry again, something which he is used to. He is aware of Harry following him to the door, and he has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes when he feels Harry slip medicines in his bag.

“I’m not useless, you know,” Louis looks pointedly over at Harry, who only shrugs and coos at Calanthe, who is in Louis’ arms.

“I know,” Harry replies, opening the door for Louis who steps out, his nose twitching with the need to be blown. He turns around to face Harry, and tries not to squirm under those intense green eyes.

“Bye, Harry,” he says, his voice soft despite himself, and he turns around and calmly walks to the elevator, although he wants to run and get to his flat as quickly as he possibly can. He thinks he hears a soft, _'_ _goodbye, Louis’,_ but when he glances over his shoulder, the door is closed and there’s no sign of Harry.

  
  


-

  
  


He’s been feeling much better, having taken enough medicines to fight the nasty bug he caught, and after four days in bed, he wakes up without a stuffy nose or a tingling throat. He’s in such a good mood that he dances around the kitchen to Elvis Presley while a very unimpressed Calanthe glares at him from where she’s sitting on the kitchen counter.

“What?” he asks her, raising an eyebrow. She only blinks at him, licking her paw. He scoffs and pours some food for her in her kitty bowl, and she instantly jumps off the counter to go eat. He can’t even be mad at her, and he watches her eat with a fond expression on his face.

“I love you,” he tells Calanthe as he leaves her and quickly goes to the bedroom to change. He isn’t going anywhere, but he feels like dressing up a bit, and he’s applying mascara on his already long eyelashes when Zayn’s voice booms across the flat. 

Louis caps the tube of mascara back and hurries to the kitchen, where he finds Zayn on the couch, scrolling down his phone. Louis smirks and runs to his best friend, jumping on him as Zayn shrieks, trying to kick Louis away.

“Back off, bitch!” Zayn shouts, laughing as Louis messes up Zayn’s perfectly styled hair. Zayn groans. “I spent a whole hour doing my hair, you shit!”

Louis should feel bad, but truthfully, he doesn’t. Zayn sighs but then Calanthe comes running towards them, and she jumps on Zayn’s head and makes even more of a mess out of Zayn’s hair as she puts her paws into the dark strands. Louis beams.

“That’s my girl,” he coos as Zayn grabs Calanthe and lifts her off his head and places her down on his chest.

“No wonder she’s your cat,” Zayn grits out, his lips twitching. “You’re both a pain in the ass. The only difference is that Calanthe is cute.”

“Hey!” Louis slaps Zayn and pouts. “I’m adorable, thank you very much.”

“Right,” Zayn snorts, caressing Calanthe’s back. “How have you been?”

Louis waves his hand, cuddling his legs to his chest. “Same old, same old. I was sick for a few days, but I feel immensely better today.”

Zayn frowns and cocks his head, worried. “Shit, Lou, I didn’t know! You should have told me, I’d have come over.”

Louis hums, his expression softening. “It’s ok, Zee. Harry had—”

But then he freezes, blood rushing to his cheeks just as Zayn’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. He sits up, a glint in his eyes as he narrows his eyes at Louis. 

“Louis, if you don’t finish that sentence I will actually pluck your hair out!” Zayn jabs a finger in Louis’ knee. “Harry had what?”

Fuck sake. Louis internally sighs and chastises himself. 

“He…” he hesitates, unaware of how to say it to Zayn without causing a scene. “He kind-of took care of me? It was very weird.”

A beat passes, then Zayn goes back to stroking Calanthe, a thoughtful expression on his face. He looks like Inspector Gadget's nemesis, Dr. Claw, and the thought makes Louis smile. The heater pumps warm air in the flat, though when Louis glances out of the window, he sees it’s snowing slightly outside, offering a stark contrast. He puts the sleeves of his long blouse over his hands, making sweater paws.

“Do you like Harry?” Zayn asks at last, his honey-brown eyes on him. He blinks, caught off guard, and frowns when he finds himself unable to give an answer. Or, at least, one he’s sure of. He fish-mouths as he lets his head fall back against the couch, because what the fuck. He hears Zayn sighs, then a hand pats him on the shoulder.

Louis frowns and slaps Zayn’s hand away. “I don’t like him, well, I didn’t at the beginning, but I guess he’s proven himself, you know, after repairing my heater and saving Calanthe and letting me crash at his place and eating his delicious broth because I was sick and _oh my god_ I am rambling aren’t I?”

“Quite,” Zayn smirks, amused. He then laughs. “I remember when he found us fighting over ice cream. He must have had a terrible impression of me. I’d love to meet him again.”

Louis huffs. “You love him or something?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “No, but I kind-of want to meet the guy who makes you blush so much.”

Then Zayn reaches across and flicks the apple of his cheek, and Louis’ mouth drops open in disbelief as he stands up and gives Zayn the middle finger.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Louis tells him as he goes to the kitchen to find something to eat, and also to look at himself in the reflective glass of the stove.

He hates that Zayn’s right, and that he’s blushing because of Harry fucking Styles. He grabs a packet of biscuits and decides to shove them in his mouth, hoping to swallow down along them, his treacherous and confusing feelings.

  
  


-

  
  


When Zayn meets the curly-haired man properly, it is one week after he had brought up Louis’ potential ‘feelings’ for Harry. It has officially become an habit of Harry to come by Louis’ flat one or twice per week, and that day Harry had showed up with enough pizza to last Louis a whole week (he pretends the food is the only reason that he lets Harry in, but really, he’s glad to see the six-feet tall, curly-haired, cocky asshole)(and judging by the way Harry smirks as he removes his shoes, he’s very much aware of it).

Louis is taking a bite out of a piece of cheesy pizza when the doorbell rings. Harry is playing with a dozing Calanthe, and he looks at Louis quizzingly as Louis puts down his food and sucks his greasy fingers in his mouth. When he opens the door, he finds Zayn standing with a toothy smile and a box of chocolate, which Louis eyes with envy.

“This for me, Zaynie?” he bats his eyelashes and is about to reach for the box when Zayn sidetracks him and walks to the living room.

“Nope,” he calls out as Harry looks up, startled when Zayn presents him the box of chocolate. “It’s for dear Harry Styles here. Hi, mate, I haven’t heard much about you, I’m afraid to say.”

Harry blinks, taken aback, but accepts the box nonetheless. Louis pouts as he drops next to Harry, crossing his arms over his chest because what the fuck, he really has the worst best friend on earth.

“Thanks?” Harry manages to crack a smile as Zayn salutes him and sits on the loveseat.

“Of course, buddy. I’m Zayn. Louis’ best friend.”

They shake hands and somehow, Harry perks up and actually looks thrilled as he launches into a conversation with Zayn. Louis huffs and smiles when Calanthe jumps awake and runs to him, and he picks her up and kisses her. Fine, Harry is going to steal Louis’ best friend. Louis will just… knee Harry in the crotch or put salt in his tea again as revenge. But then he finds the box of chocolate on the ground and his hand creeps towards it, and he snatches it and opens it with a self-satisfied smirk. The first chocolate he pops into his mouth is heaven.

By the time Harry notices his chocolate is gone, Louis has worked his way through the better half of the box and has had to stop before exploding. He gives Harry a sweet smile as he nuzzles into Camanthe’s fur, and instead of a glare or something, Harry laughs, soft and breathy and _fond._ Louis can’t help it when he blushes, and he stands up quickly, making up an excuse to get out of here.

He ends up going to the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. Why is he feeling this way for Harry? He glances down at Calanthe, seeking answers in her big yellow innocent eyes.

“Does he like me?” he asks, hating how vulnerable he sounds. When he glances into the mirror, he sees confusion written all over his face, and somehow there’s hope in the mix. He doesn’t expect for Harry to like him right away, but he’s hoping that maybe, after more than a month of frequenting one another, Harry has come to appreciate him, too. He shakes his head at himself and pinches his cheek to bring a bit of colour to them. He also works on chasing away the wetness in his eyes.

A knock on the door brings his attention to it, and then Zayn is poking his head through the doorway.

“We wanna go down to the club,” Zayn tells him, cocking his head to the side. “And of course, you’re coming. Harry is calling some lads to join us.”

He steps fully into the bathroom, walking to the mirror to look at himself. Then, he glances worriedly at Louis, who hasn’t said anything, rooted to the spot in shock. In the, what, three minutes he was gone, Harry and Zayn decided to go out tonight? That means Harry must have won Zayn over, because while Zayn might be a night owl, he likes being at home and in front of his video games.

“Babe?”

Louis startles and hums, subconsciously cradling Calanthe even closer to his chest. He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, sure, I’ll come!”

 _Why not?_ He asks himself, before shrugging and going to the bedroom, where he has his full body length mirror, and he mentally pats himself on the back for thinking of dressing up earlier, before Harry came. He has tight leggings on with a soft blouse, and he puts his leather jacket on and slips some boots on. Zayn has slipped out of the bedroom and gone back to the living room, and when Louis himself steps out, Calanthe runs past him, straight to the kitchen to drink some water.

He finds Harry laughing at something Zayn says, though Harry’s attention snaps to him the moment he enters the living room, and the smile has dimmed and his expression has shifted into something Louis can’t decipher. His eyes glance down at Louis’ legs, and seem to darken and the sight is arousing enough to make Louis’ lower belly feel funny.

“Ready?” Zayn claps his hands and laughs as Calanthe snaps her head towards them, meowing. “Not you, baby,” he coos. Then he turns to them. “I’ve got my car parked downstairs.”

After slipping on his coat and pulling down over his hair a beanie, he kisses Calanthe goodbye and steps out of his flat after Zayn. As he glances over his shoulder, his heart skips a beat as he sees Harry bending down to caress Calanthe, and he has to look away lest he’d do something he will regret. He catches Zayn’s knowing gaze, though his best friend quickly looks away with a small smile. Louis rolls his eyes and locks his door after Harry. Zayn is a bloody idiot.

If he expects Harry to come with them to Zayn’s car, he’s disappointed as Harry fishes his car key out. Louis can’t help it, he looks at him, asking a silent question to which Harry answers, leaning closer to Louis to be properly heard.

“I’m going to get some of the friends I invited,” his warm breath falls upon Louis’ cheek, making from just that small contact, goosebumps rack through Louis’ body. “You go with Zayn, alright? I’ll join you at the club.”

Louis nods and whirls around, jogging to Zayn’s car. His best friend is already waiting inside, a cigarette hanging between his long fingers, and the moment Louis puts his bottom on the cushioned seat of the sleek Ford, Zayn is pinning him down with a cocky smirk. Louis rolls his eyes and gives him the middle finger, crossing his arms over his chest as he stubbornly stares out of the window while the engine is turned on and they pull out of their parking spot. As they drive farther and farther, Harry becomes smaller and smaller.

As he breathes, fog appears on the car window and Zayn hurries to put on the heater. The moment warm air is pumped into the vehicle, Louis relaxes and rests his head against the door.

“You like him,” Zayn says after a while, stopping at a red light while blowing the smoke _inside_ the car, which makes Louis scrunch up his nose. “And I reckon he does, too.”

Louis scoffs and shakes his head, because there’s just no way, isn’t it? If it's the case then Harry hasn’t really been all that obvious, and Louis is fairly sure he only _just_ tolerates the smaller man’s presence. He plays with his bottom lip as they turn a corner and have to slow down due to traffic.

“Ok but, hear me out,” Zayn clears his throat, rolling his window down to throw the ash outside. “Why did he take care of you when you were sick? Why is he always staring at you? Why does he light up whenever I talk about you?”

Louis tries not to flush as he thinks about Harry’s ridiculously large hand on his forehead, and hold on, does he really stare at him? It’s something he hasn’t noticed, so he frowns and decides to glare at Zayn.

“You talk about me?” he says in disbelief, already picturing all the embarrassing shit Zayn probably told Harry behind his back. He will _die_ of mortification.

Zayn smiles serenely as he speeds up on a straight road, and Louis absently wonders about the club they’re driving to because it seems to be slightly outside the city centre. Zayn finishes the last of his smoking stick and pockets the butt to throw in a trash bin later.

“Don’t worry, I only told him about _Bloody Mary,”_ he snorts when Louis slaps him several times on the arm. “I’m fucking driving, Louis!”

“You did not tell him about that!” Louis shouts, his wide eyes picturing Harry’s expression as he’s told about that one time Louis was pranked in the bathroom by Zayn after saying Bloody Mary three times, and panicking to death when feeling a hand stalk up his skirt and a breath fall upon his ear. In his defense, the stupid light switch has been outside the bathroom. He pouts and sinks deeper into the seat. “I fucking hate you.”

For the rest of the drive, Zayn keeps grinning, and Louis honest-to-god considers murder.

But his bloody urges dissipate as he takes in the club, which has come into sight. Zayn has to drive around the area several times before finding somewhere to park. Excited, he jumps out of the car and waits for Zayn to join him, which he does while lighting up another cigarette. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Again? Really?”

Zayn only winks at him as they approach _The Marauders._ He raises an eyebrow.

“Curious name,” he tells Zayn, who hums and pays for their entry. The inside is dark and smells of leather, and it isn’t any different from any other clubs, really, but he’s still slightly nervous to be there because it’s the first time he’s been, or even heard, of The Marauders.

Music makes the ground shake, along with the bodies letting go on the dancefloor. It’s a typical sight for a club, so he sticks close to Zayn as they make their way through the crowd, and to the bar. Most stools are taken, but Louis stops short when he spots Harry waving at them from a corner, with cushioned seats and a table that, even from where he stands, looks sticky with liquor. When did they get there? Zayn smiles at him reassuringly and together they walk to the table.

Louis catches Harry’s eyes, before he takes notice of the three other people. He clears his throat as Zayn sits next to a man with bleached hair, leaving the only available seat the one next to Harry. A blessing or a curse, Louis can’t tell, but he doesn’t let his inner turmoil appear on his face, nor shows that he is affected by the fact he’ll get to sit by Harry for the rest of the night. So he sits down, and actually acknowledges Harry’s friends.

They’ve begun introducing themselves already, but the one with bleached hair repeats his name when he spots Louis looking at him. He has a serene, sincere smile, and Louis can tell already he will like him.

“I’m Jacob,” he salutes, tilting his half-empty pint towards Louis.

“I’m Louis,” he smiles back, glancing at the other two people. One has got sunglasses on, the third one can’t seem to tear her eyes away from Zayn. She has beautiful blonde hair that falls over her breast in curls, and her delicate features make Louis think of a forest fairy.

“I’m Dave,” the one with the sunglasses says, smirking. “I’m blind, in case anyone thought the sunglasses were there to make me look like an asshole. Which, mind you, some would argue I am exactly that regardless of the shades.”

That startles a laugh out of Louis, and Dave gives him a thumbs-up. 

The woman finally speaks up, her glossed lips shining under the overhead lights. “And I’m Gigi.”

Harry shakes his head in amusement, probably from Dave trying to steal Jacob’s pint since his own is empty. Louis listens as Zayn introduces himself, and can’t help but notice the way Gigi flushes as Zayn’s attention falls on her. This is _too_ good, he thinks, swallowing down a smirk. He’s so caught up into finding ways to get Zayn and Gigi together and alone when he realizes Jacob is looking at him. He startles and flushes, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. Was he too obvious?

“So, Louis,” he begins after risking a quick glance at Harry. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

Harry shifts next to him. “Jacob,” he says sternly. Is it a warning? Louis frowns and is about to open his mouth when Zayn stands up.

“I’ll go grab drinks, what do you guys want?”

Louis doesn’t say anything; Zayn knows already what he wants. Harry speaks his answer, and his deep voice is enough to send Louis into a blushing mess and what the fuck? He isn't like that usually, and he doesn’t like it. He licks his lips and puts his hands on his lap, nervously playing with his fingers.

“So,” Dave says, leaning back against the cushion with a yawn. “Jeez, sorry. What do you do for a living, Louis?”

Louis clears his throat and sits up. “I’m a fashion historian and designer, and I work with video games to design historically accurate clothes.”

Dave whistles, and even without seeing his eyes Louis can tell the man is impressed. He smiles shyly.

“That’s dope,” he tells Louis. “Surely more interesting than Jacob’s body-building business or Harold’s clinic.”

Louis blinks and looks at Harry, and he’s surprised to find Harry’s eyes already on him.

“Harold?” he mouths, and Harry’s lips twitch. 

“A nickname,” he answers, and Louis hums. He quite likes it, actually.

Zayn comes back with their drinks, and Louis chucks down a good amount of his cool beer, enjoying the sweet taste. Tonight seems to be the perfect night to get drunk, to forget his apparent feelings for Harry, to just… let go. Maybe he can even find someone to warm up his bed, but then he frowns and almost groans out loud. They’re too far away from where they live. He huffs and notices that Gigi isn’t drinking, and neither is Zayn. They’ve probably sacrificed themselves to remain sober so they can take them home later. 

Louis lets go, then. Literally.

He’s on his third beer when the conversation stirs to something more interesting. They have to shout to be heard over the music, and at any other time, Louis would have been too out of it to even make out a single word, but he seems to sober up the moment he hears _Harry_ and _relationship_ in the same sentence. 

“He doesn’t do the whole dating thing,” Jacob laughs, burping and sending Dave into a round of giggle. “Harry was a beast in the first few years of uni, d’you remember?”

Louis feels his heart drop to his liver, and his fingers tighten around the bottle in his hand. He thinks he feels Harry tense up, but maybe that’s just his imagination.

Dave points at Harry, slightly off course since he can’t see the curly-haired man and he’s drunk, but it still gets his point across. His accent becomes thicker. “Methinks the longest Harry’s been in a relationship was two months. What was his name again? Benjamin? I ‘member, he would play violin thinking he was good. Nearly went deaf meself!”

He hears Harry sigh, and when he looks at Harry he finds him shaking his head in mock-amusement. Harry doesn’t do relationships, then. The revelation isn’t exactly a slap to the face, but it’s enough to make Louis stand up and stumble away, muttering about needing to go to the loo. He waits in the queue for his turn and the moment he’s in the dirty toilet, he splashes cold water over his pale face.

Harry doesn’t do relationships. Louis doesn’t like to admit it, but deep down he’s hoped the opposite. He’s always been a bit of romantic, wishing to find an understanding and caring partner, and he fucking hates that he’s started finding those two things in Harry. Harry, who doesn’t do relationships.

He squeezes his eyes shut and throws the bathroom door open, not even complaining when someone shoulders past him and bangs the door closed. He makes his way to the table, and he grabs his beer and drowns it in one single gulp.

“Hey, Lou,” Gigi frowns. “Slow down!”

He hums and uses the back of his hand to wipe the excess of liquid away. He laughs and winks at her.

“Where’s ‘Arold?” he hiccups, noticing the lack of curly hair in front of him, and she shrugs.

“Off dancing, I reckon.”

He nods and stalks to the dance floor. He doesn’t need a Harry Styles anyway. What he needs is a fat juicy cock up his ass, and he’s determined to find one. He’ll fucking settle on being fucked in a stinky corner of the club, anything to get Harry out of his system. He starts to sway his hips to the beat of the music, throwing his head back with his eyes closed, exposing the alluring curve of his neck. It doesn’t take long for hands to circle his waist, and he lets his own fingers come over those alien hands. They’re big and smooth, and they feel nice, so he dances against the body behind him.

He knows whoever is grinding against his ass is not Harry. They smell like cinnamon when Harry is more of a fruity guy. Their hands are ringless, and Louis misses the contrast between soft skin and steel rings. He hates that he’s still thinking of Harry when he’s trying not to, but he can’t bring himself to stop. 

He sinks deeper against the firm chest stuck to his back, and lips are on his neck then, licking and biting and he flushes. Despite the distraction, all he can think is, _they’re not Harry’s._

It feels like a lifetime has ticked by when the hands around his waist tighten, and he’s pulled off the stage to a more quiet corner. He looks up into brown eyes, and the man’s rather attractive, with a straight nose and pink lips and darkened, full of lust eyes. He doesn’t waste time talking, or saying anything, as he pushes Louis against a wall and bends down to put his lips against Louis’.

It feels wrong. Louis has no idea of why, but it just doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t fight it, though, instead he lets himself be fondled and kissed, lets himself be guided further into the darkness. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine he’s being held against the wall by Harry, and that the fingers circling his nipples belong to Harry. With wet eyes he looks to the side, giving access to his neck, and his heart stops when he meets Harry’s stormy eyes across the club.

Louis kind-of forgets the stranger he’s got latched on him, too busy taking in the way Harry’s fingers are clenched into fists. Harry’s eyes are so dark they look like two wells, and his lips are turned down in anger. What’s his problem? Louis doesn’t have time to think about it as fingers cradle his face and turn his head around. A tongue slips past his lips and he tries to push the taller stranger away from him, but it’s for naught. He’s too slow and tired from the alcohol, and he’s starting to regret seeking danger on the dance floor. 

He closes his eyes as his leggings are being pulled down, but then he hears the stranger against him groan, and the weight on him is gone.

His eyes snap open when he hears shouts, and he doesn’t expect the sight that greets him; Harry is staring down at the stranger, his face twisted in an expression of pure anger.

“Fuck off,” he snarls, fisting the stranger’s front tee-shirt. It’s clear the man wants to snap back, but Harry is actually taller and seemingly stronger, so with a jerk of the head and a glare at Louis, the stranger takes off and disappears into the crowd.

 _Hm, what the fuck?_ Louis shakily exhales as his hands fly to his spit-wet neck, and he has to hold back from showing his disgust as he tries to wipe it away with his sleeve. He shrinks on himself as Harry’s dark eyes fall upon him, but maybe Harry can sense his distress because then, he’s softening and tugging Louis closer to his body.

“Let’s get out of here,” he grumbles, and Louis only nods his agreement. He can’t breathe, and it’s too hot, and although the heat coming from Harry’s body is nearly unbearable, he nestles his face into Harry’s chest and lets himself be guided through the mass of bodies.

When the fresh air of outside hits his skin, Louis sighs in relief and closes his eyes to relish the feeling. He doesn’t get to do it for long, though, since Harry flags down a cab and practically shoves Louis inside. His big body slides in after Louis, and he closes the door with a huff. Even though his inebriated eyes, Louis can tell Harry is pissed off, and it can be heard through the man’s deep voice as he spits their address to the driver. Louis hugs himself and glances out of the window and into the night, torn.

“You’re mad?” he whispers, gulping when he doesn’t get an answer. Harry is too busy breathing through his nose, as if trying to calm himself down. Louis frowns.

“Why are you mad?” he tries again, and this time Harry’s head snaps to him, his expression bordering on terrifying.

“Are you asking me whether I’m mad about the fact you willingly put yourself into danger, letting some fucking stranger drag you off to a corner to have their way with you? Are you seriously fucking asking me that? I think you can answer the question yourself.”

Harry’s tone is hard and unforgiving and Louis gasps as his heart speeds up, both in surprise and anger. Who the fuck does Harry think he is, talking to him like that? Maybe it’s the alcohol in his veins making him speak, but his own hard eyes settle on Harry’s face, and he hates that deep down, he wants to hurt Harry with his words.

“You have no fucking right putting your dirty hands in my business, you entitled twat!” he screams, managing not to cower away under Harry’s murderous glare. 

The driver clears his throat.

“We’re not speaking about this here,” Harry grits out, his fingers balled into fists on his lap. Louis laughs humourlessly. Stupid, fucking asshole. 

The moment the driver parks in front of their building, he’s taking off towards the entrance. He sees Harry throwing several bills at the driver before stalking outside the vehicle. Louis has to admit he’s never seen collected, calm Harry so mad before. He doesn’t wait for Harry to reach him, instead he takes off through the lobby and starts to take the stairs. Harry speeds up until he’s right on Louis’ heels, practically breathing down Louis’ neck.

“Fuck off,” Louis mumbles, through he sounds weak even to his own ears.

“Make me,” Harry replies, and when Louis whirls around to do just that, he doesn’t expect for soft, wet lips to fall on his own.

His heart stops.

Then picks up again in a rapid rhythm. Harry’s arms circle his waist and pulls him closer to Harry’s body, and he instantly opens his mouth to let Harry’s tongue slide in and _ohmygod_ it might as well be what heaven feels like, what laying under the soft sunlight is. He whines against Harry’s mouth.

When Harry speaks, his lips are still against Louis’. “You wanted to get fucked tonight, didn’t you?” his voice is low and sends sparks of pleasure throughout Louis’ body. Louis whines again, unable to form words.

“You were ready to let some stranger defile you, hm?”

Louis gasps as Harry’s hands grab his ass, and he’s well aware they’re still in the corridor where anyone could walk in on them. He flushes as Harry buries his face in the crook of his neck and starts to kiss the skin there. He detaches himself long enough to look at Louis in the eyes.

“Do you want this?” his voice is more gentle, and allows Louis a split second of clarity. He nods, tears threatening to spill over his cheeks, and he squeals as Harry scoops him up and starts to walk up to Louis’ floor, holding the smaller man bridal-style. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the added weight, and the display of strength leaves Louis breathless and _so_ horny. They arrive at Louis’ door quickly, and Harry nearly breaks the thing down in his impatience. 

“Hold on,” Louis mumbles as he uses his key to open the door, and the moment they’re inside Harry is kissing Louis again, but this time it’s dirty and _so_ good, and everything Louis has ever wanted. Spit is already coating their chins, and Harry licks his cheek down to his neck, leaving a wet path that tickles as the cool air hits it. Louis’ shaky fingers fists the back of Harry’s coat as he takes them to Louis’ bedroom.

There’s somewhere a tiny meow, but it fades away as Harry closes the bedroom’s door and throws Louis on the bed. He looks feral with his messy curls and their saliva on his chin, and Louis instantly spreads his legs, an invitation which Harry doesn’t refuse as he unbuttons his jeans and frees his cock. It’s long and thick, but not too big so as to be scary, and it’s perfect and exactly what Louis needs.

Just as Harry yanks his leggings off his legs, Louis realizes he might be making a mistake. He’s probably going to hurt himself, getting a taste of Harry when he knows he'll quickly get addicted to it, but might not ever get it again. He glances to the side as Harry fetches a bottle of lube and a condom, and he makes quick work of wetting his cock and sliding the condom down over his erected length.

He bends down over Louis’ body, his curls ticking Louis’ forehead. His dark eyes bore into Louis’ soul.

“This will teach you to be more careful,” he groans as he thrusts one lubed finger inside of Louis, causing the smaller man to jump and gasp in surprise. It feels amazing, the way he suddenly has something inside of him, the way the intrusion stings just slightly. His fingers grip Harry’s tee-shirt and he half-regrets not getting to feel Harry’s skin, but he has to keep his mind on one single fact lest he’d end up tearing himself apart.

This is not gentle sex. This is pure, angry, carnal sex, and Louis tramples his feelings as he looks at Harry straight into the eyes while the curly-haired man fingers him open. Sweat has budded over both of their forehead, the temperature having gone up as they breathe in each other’s mouth.

“I’m fucking ready,” Louis slurs, closing his eyes as Harry yanks his fingers out of his ass. With his digits around his cock, Harry guides his dick to Louis’ rim, caressing the wet hole teasingly, then with a satisfied smile he penetrates Louis, and allows Louis a few seconds to adjust to the much bigger girth before he’s bottoming out in one single thrust of his hips.

Louis screams, both in pleasure and pain, but he loves it, and he doesn’t hold back from tucking on Harry’s hair, hard. This makes the taller man groan as he pounds into Louis, fast and unforgiving, and when their lips crash against one another, there’s too much teeth and tongue and there’s nothing gentle. Louis bites down on Harry’s bottom lip, and a hand wraps around his throat in retaliation. Harry doesn’t squeeze, only keeps his hand on Louis’ pulse as he fucks him into the mattress, as he renders him speechless with every single blow to his prostate. It’s carnal.

“Fuck,” Harry bends down so can he kiss Louis, fucking his tongue inside of Louis’ mouth to the rhythm of his hips. It’s so messy that Louis can feel Harry’s saliva gushes into his mouth, and he swallows it all too happily, lapping at the liquid like some parched land yearning for some rain. He’s never thought he’d be into spitting, but he’s caught off guard when Harry spits into his mouth, tightening slightly his hold onto Louis’ throat, reminding Louis that he’s at Harry’s mercy. He swallows and trembles as Harry continues flooding his mouth, and it doesn’t take long for Louis to come, white ribbons shooting out of his tip, landing over his expensive blouse.

Harry doesn’t slow down. His cock drags against Louis’ walls, the wet sounds loud and clear and mixing up with their laboured breathing and the sound Harry’s balls make as they meet Louis’ ass. Louis is spent and all he can do is lay there and _take,_ and enjoy the feeling of Harry’s hands on his body. 

He might never experience it again.

He swallows down the ball in his throat as Harry lets out a loud moan, pushing his hips against his body as he comes in the condom. Louis regrets not being able to feel Harry’s come inside of him, but he'll take whatever he can get. He closes his wet eyes as he wills his breathing to even out, and he flinches slightly when Harry pulls his spent cock out and collapses onto the pillow next to Louis. They don’t speak, both because they can’t and because they don’t know what to tell each other. 

Louis’ eyelids are heavy, and he starts to doze off as he feels the mattress becomes lighter as Harry stands up. Through blurry eyes, Louis sees Harry go into the bathroom to grab a cloth, and then he feels hands on his body, and a warm, wet fabric being dragged over his face, his blouse, his belly, his ass, his thighs. He whines when Harry cleans his rim, being extra gentle, a stark contrast to how he was mere seconds ago.

“Sleep,” Harry’s whispers in his ear, and he doesn’t need to be told twice.

He falls into a dreamless slumber.

  
  


-

  
  


When Louis blinks his eyes open, he immediately groans as a headache makes white spots dance underneath his eyelids. Fuck. He uses his fingers to massage his temples, but it doesn’t do much. He’s pleasantly sore, and as he sits up and winces at the pain in his ass, the events of last night come back to him, flooding his thoughts like a tidal wave. He gasps and his eyes widen.

He got fucked by Harry Styles. 

He stares, in shock, at the sheets, and he fish-mouths for a while, unable to make sense of what the fuck is going on. _Fuck_ , he had sex with Harry. His bottom lip trembles and he groans as a tear slides down his cheek. What has he done?

When he glances to his alarm o’clock, he’s surprised to find a tall glass of water and some aspirins. There’s no note, and there’s no Harry Styles next to him. He tries to swallow down the disappointment along the pills and the water, but once the glass is empty, the anger and sadness he feels are such that he throws it at the wall, barely wincing as it breaks and flies all over the ground.

Fuck Harry Styles. Fuck him, he repeats to himself as he draws the sheets closer to his body, tucking himself in. He doesn’t fucking like Harry Styles. He can’t willingly like somebody who leaves him after fucking him seven ways to Sunday.

But then again, what did he fucking expect? For Harry to get over his dislike of him, and decide to stay? He chuckles at himself, feeling stupid. He’s allowed himself a taste, and now he has to pay the consequences of not being able to get it again. He can’t blame it all on Harry, though. He wanted last night as much as Harry, maybe even more, so he has to be strong and not let it get to his head. Maybe Harry will regret what happened so much that he’ll ignore him once and for all. He pretends that the idea is appealing. At least, he’ll get to spend more time with his kitten.

After wallowing in his own stupidity for several hours, he decides to move. He stinks of sweat and come, and his thighs are sticky, so he strips naked and jumps into the shower, avoiding the mirror. He’s not sure he’s ready to face himself, or the marks Harry left all over his body.

Under the steaming stream of water, he rubs his skin until it turns red, hoping to wash away the memory of Harry’s lips and caresses. When he finally gets out of the shower, clouds of steam rising from behind him, he’s not sure there’s any skin left on him. The tears have gone down the drain with the hot water, and he’s sufficiently drained himself so that his eyes don’t leak anymore. He ties his towel around his waist and marches to his bedroom, still not looking at himself in the mirror, not even when he’s done putting on a big sweater and loose sweatpants. His fingers shake as he spots the ugly green sweater Harry forgot, and never bothered to come get it back.

He should set it on fire. Maybe read some evil incantation to curse the shit out of Harry Styles.

But instead, he brings it to his nose, smelling Harry’s perfume on the fabric mixed with his own from the few times he’s worn it, in the confine of his flat.

He refuses to fucking lament for himself. So he folds the sweater and puts it back in his closet, out of sight, and he makes his way out of his bedroom and to his kitchen. There he grabs the vacuum cleaner and the trash bin, and he throws the biggest pieces of glass in it and uses the hoover to get the tiny fragments off the ground. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have cleaned the mess until late in the day, but with Calanthe he’s afraid she will walk on the sharp pieces and hurt herself. Just as he’s turning off the machine, his kitten comes barreling through the door, headbutting his legs. She meows and he scoops her up, holding her close to his chest.

“Hi, my baby,” he mutters tiredly, his voice cracking. He kisses her and goes to the kitchen to prepare himself a hearty breakfast. The eggs are cooking as he gets a message, and he hates the hope that flourishes in his chest as grabs the black device. 

It’s Zayn, asking how he’s doing.

He quickly replies, but doesn’t linger. Instead, he presses the back of his hands against his eyes, refusing to let anymore tears fall down.

  
  


-

  
  


Harry doesn’t speak to him, and Louis doesn’t try to reach out. Despite the scarred heart, he manages to fall back into his routine. He wakes up and works, he cuddles with Calanthe and watches rom-coms. Sometimes he calls Zayn to talk for a bit, but he tries not to have his best friend come over lest he’d see the state in which he is. Because the thing is, he hasn’t been able to sleep properly, and even though he likes to pretend he’s doing fine, he is not. His flat is a mess, he hasn’t done the dishes nor the laundry in far too long, and he’s ashamed of the pile of empty boxes of take-outs on the kitchen counter.

He’s productive, though. He completes all of his projects until he’s left with nothing to do, so he has time to binge-watch his favourite tv-shows. It also gives him more time to think about his fallout with Harry, but that’s the kind of details he forces himself to not linger on.

When a week later he is invited to a meeting, he jumps on the opportunity like a starved dog. It’s a great way to get his mind off things, and he goes as far as digging his driving license back from the depth of a drawer, and eyes his car key in suspicion. It’s a good one hour of driving to get to the meeting place, and he doesn’t fancy taking public transports. And driving will maybe relax him, though he hardly believes it.

He dresses into a fitted suit, one that kisses his curves beautifully. He puts a little bit of mascara on, and heeled boots. He looks amazing, and as he grabs his keys and phone, and kisses Calanthe goodbye, he feels ready to conquer the world. He’s been avoiding the stairs and using the elevator more and more, afraid that he’ll meet Harry on the way. It’s pathetic and he’d love to see those green eyes again, just so he can share a bit of his hurt with the reason for it, but in the end he’s not yet ready to pick up fights he knows he’ll end up losing.

His car, despite having been dead for a while, boots up quite fast and the engine roars to life. He carefully pulls out of his parking spot and speeds up through the night. His driving is as bad as it always has been, and lost in his thoughts, he tends to drive above the speed limit, or to rush past a vehicle when he doesn’t have the priority. The thing is, he considers that the priority is him, at all times, so he doesn't really care. He remembers when he was doing the driving test and the inspector nearly kicked his ass in the first ten minutes of the test.

With _The Who_ crooning in the background, Louis reaches the fancy restaurant, parking (rather badly) in front of it. He kills the engine and takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then he jumps out of the vehicle, sighing. He really hates driving.

Inside the posh Italian restaurant, he’s met with three people; two men who look so alike that they could be twins, and Louis learns that they’re brothers, and a woman who has a shocking amount of red hair, but has the softest voice he’s ever heard. They’re wonderful with him and compliment his work. He eats delicious food for free, and nearly moans when he drinks the best hot chocolate he's ever tasted in his life. He’s aware of the lingering eyes of one of the men, Philippo, and even though he’s flattered, he’s made it a rule to never sleep with the people he works with. He isn’t disappointed that he’ll go home alone tonight, though, and he’s more than thrilled when the night ends on a good note. He steps out of the restaurant with his signature at the bottom of the contract, and the cherry on top is that he didn’t think of Harry even once throughout the meeting.

“Drive safe,” Lory tells him, a warm smile on her gorgeous face. He nods and waves at them as they go to their cars, and he jumps into his own, a silly smile on his face.

It’s well past midnight as he makes his way back home, and he’s glad he’s ordered a coffee to help him not doze off. His eyelids are slightly heavy, but after blaring _We Will Rock You,_ he feels awake enough to survive through the one hour drive. There aren’t many cars outside, though there are spots of colour in the distance. He hums and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. A glance at the map has him known he’s fifteen minutes away from home.

It all happens in slow motion.

He’s driving slightly above the speed limit, something he does subconsciously. He doesn’t have time to turn the wheel, or stop, as something appears in front of his car. He stomps on the brake pedal but it’s too late, and he feels the impact against the vehicle as his body is jerked forward. Thankfully, he doesn’t break his nose against the wheel, the seat belt doing its job and keeping him from flying through the windshield. He screams and covers his mouth with his trembling fingers as the car stops, and he hurriedly jumps out of it, walking to the front of the car. The light is still on and after squinting his eyes, he makes out a mass of fur. 

A sob rips from his mouth as he kneels next to the wounded creature. It’s a dog, a Schafer at that, and its pristine white fur is coloured in red. He starts to cry, thinking he’s just killed an innocent being, when the dog whines weakly, its chest jerking in its effort to breath.

“Oh god,” Louis rambles, running to his car to grab his phone. “Oh my god, what the fuck, _shit fuck.”_

He goes back to the wounded dog and calls the only number he can think of.

 _Please, pick up,_ he mentally begs, just as a deep voice drawls in the phone.

“Louis?” Harry sounds surprised, and when Louis hears his voice he can’t help but cry harder. He has to be strong, he has to save that dog. “Louis, what’s going on?” Harry is obviously panicking now, and Louis sniffs and takes a deep breath.

“I was driving,” he begins, gulping. “And I hit a dog. He’s alive but badly wounded, he needs medical care.”

He hears Harry curses, and random noises on the other side of the device join his harsh breathing. “I’m coming right away, where are you?”

He croaks out the address as his eyes focus on the blood oozing out of the corner of the dog’s mouth. His lips shake and he cries harder, and he barely registers the soothing words coming from Harry.

“Louis, please,” Harry sounds frantic. “Please, don’t panic. You need to be strong for that dog, ok? Dogs can pick up on our emotions, and if you’re scared the dog might panic as well and aggravates its injuries.”

He doesn’t answer, too busy making sure the surroundings are safe. He’s in the middle of the fucking road, for fuck’s sake.

“Please, Louis,” Harry stern voice catches his attention. “Without touching the dog, can you tell me how it is, and what kind of wound it has?”

He gulps and focuses on the wounded creature. “I- I think it’s bleeding from road rashes. Its eyes are closed but it’s breathing, albeit shallowly.” He sniffs and uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away the tears and mucus. “One of its legs is lying at an odd angle, I- I think it’s broken. And there’s a bit of blood coming out of its mouth.”

“Alright,” Harry breathes into the device. “Thank you, baby.”

Louis’ heart skips a beat at the pet name, and he looks down at his trembling fingers. He fists the fabric of his pants.

“I’m scared,” he admits, sounding small and unsure. Harry’s loud breathing momentarily helps him relax, a welcome reminder that he isn’t alone.

“It’ll be alright,” Harry tells him with conviction, and Louis believes him.

  
  


-

  
  


Harry’s big Range Rover appears like some kind of angel. Louis’ tense shoulders sag in relief, and he smiles down at the dog. It should have taken at least fifteen minutes for Harry to get there, but Louis suspects Harry had driven like a lunatic because he took half the time to pull up next to Louis’ car. He jumps out of it and fetches a stretcher, hurrying over to the dog. There’s also Emily who crouches next to him, a soft smile on her face. Her hand caresses his back.

He feels so relieved to see her, and manages to return her smile, though his attention is quickly shifting back to Harry. A single look from him at Emily is enough to have her spring up and help Harry put the dog onto the stretcher, and the operation takes at least five minutes. The dog whimpers in pain and Louis’ heart aches.

“One, two,” Harry mutters, then at three he heaves the stretcher up, with the help of Emily, and takes the dog to Harry’s big car. Louis wishes he could stay close, maybe mutters countless apologies to the poor soul, but in the end he watches as Harry finds his eyes, and softens.

“Let’s go,” he says, pulling Louis to his chest, kissing his forehead. Then he jumps into his car, turning the engine on. Louis gulps and does the same, although he really doesn’t feel like driving. Just as the engine roars, Harry is already speeding down the road, and Louis follows close behind.

His car seems fine, but it’s the last thing on his mind anyway, and he parks quickly and practically runs to Harry’s clinic. The room is lit up in bright, white light, and he crosses his arms as Emily and Harry rush to the operating room, with the stretcher.

Louis lets himself drop down, and he takes his face into his hands. His night has gone from amazing to horrible, and he still hasn’t processed it. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to pardon himself if that dog dies. A tear slips out of his eye, travels down his cheek and he wipes it away with his thumb. He can’t fucking believe the first time in over a week he sees Harry again, is because he nearly killed an innocent animal. 

He looks around, at the little table with stacks of magazines on animals, at the potted plants here and there adding spots of colour to the rather clinical and white room. He licks his lips and considers going to the bathroom to rinse his face that he knows must be black with mascara, but he’s stuck to his chair, unable to move, his knees bouncing up and down in anxiousness. What if the dog dies? Why is it taking so long? What if the dog belongs to someone? _What if, what if, what if_ keeps going around his head until they pain him so much that he wishes he could go to sleep and never wake up again.

He’s never been great at dealing with grief. When he was little, he cried for an entire month when his pet fish Fisher died. When everyone at school wanted to kill the rogue cockroach in class, he was always the one to protect the small creature and help it get out through the window. Hell, he once was so sad about a documentary where a deer was attacked by a lion that he didn’t eat for four whole days. He’s sensitive, and he’s always loved animals, and he isn’t sure he’ll bode well knowing he’s responsible for the death of a dog.

When Harry comes out of the room with a towel in his hands, drying them, he springs from the chair and stares with wide eyes at the taller man. For a moment, they only look at each other, Harry’s face unreadable, Louis’ smeared with mascara and dried tears. Then wordlessly Harry takes several steps forward and hugs him tight, Louis’ cheek resting where Harry’s heart beats.

And he cries. It seems to be the only thing he can do lately, crying. Harry tries to soothe him out, rubbing his back and rocking them, and he’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t lost in his thoughts. Harry is holding him after ignoring him for a week, after they had sex. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“Will the dog be alright?” he whispers brokenly against Harry’s dark tee-shirt. Harry drops a kiss on top of his forehead.

“Yes,” he leans back and gives Louis a reassuring smile. “He will need time to rest, but he’ll be fine.”

Louis sighs in relief and closes his eyes to keep another wave of tears from falling down, except Harry cradles his face, making him look up into those green irises he’s been longing to see again.

“We need to talk,” Harry whispers, and Louis gulps.

They do. They need to sort a lot of shit out, and maybe Louis will get the opportunity to insult Harry in every single language he knows. 

But for now, he lets himself be guided out of the clinic, and allows the cool air to breathe a bit of hope inside of him.

  
  


-

  
  


There’s the delicious smell of bacon waltzing in the air, disturbing him from his sleep. For a moment, he doesn’t know where he is. It’s not until his vision focuses and he can see his pink alarm clock that he allows himself to relax into the mattress.

The frosty sunlight is filtering through the window, and Louis takes his time to enjoy the sight. It has been a while since the sun has decided to show up, and it’s a pleasure to see it again.

He drags his body out of bed and drowns the tall glass of water that he sees on his bedside table. He’s halfway through the door to his bathroom when he realizes he’s down to his panties; the vibrant red ones he wore yesterday night, and an oversized tee-shirt that he remembers buying but doesn’t remember keeping. He sighs and splashes hot water over his face, rubbing at his eyes. When he straightens up and looks at himself in the mirror, he’s surprised to see that the makeup is completely gone, as if someone took the time to remove it with makeup remover. He begins to remember last night (or, well, rather very early in the morning), when they got to his flat and Harry had taken them to the bathroom, and had washed Louis’ face with a soft expression and gentle hands.

He also remembers being stripped to his panties, and having a shirt put over his body. After that, it’s kind of a blur.

He sighs and doesn’t waste time before jumping into the shower, eager to get most of the dried sweat off his skin. 

He dresses into loose shorts and the tee-shirt he slept in, tucking the front into the shorts. He takes one last good look at himself. His eyes are slightly red, a sure aftermath of all the tears he cried before going to bed, and even his brain is still a bit foggy from the scare of the accident, but it’s nothing bad and he knows he only needs a hearty breakfast to get back on track. He stretches his body, moaning in pleasure when his muscles relax, and makes his way to the kitchen.

As he grows closer to it, the smell in the air doubles in intensity, and Louis smiles thinking of Harry making breakfast. Louis is most of the time too lazy in the morning to do any cooking, especially when he thinks of all the dishes he will have to clean, so to have Harry do the dirty job is always a pleasure.

Louis doesn’t say anything in greeting as he steps into the living room slash kitchen, unsure on how he will find Harry. Will he be angry? Expressionless? Happy? He has no clue on where they stand. Surely they ought to talk? It’s killing Louis not to know how Harry is feeling, and why he’s ran away completely. Hell, they could have tried being friends with benefits. Louis would have agreed to it even if he would have been aware that it would hurt him.

But at least, Harry would still be in his life. A week without being teased or bothered by the six-feet tall man was _torture._

Louis watches as a whistling Harry grabs the steel kitchen clamp and turns over the sizzling bacon. When he glances over his shoulder and spots Louis, a slow, breathtaking smile distorts his features, and Louis forgets how to breathe. 

“Good morning!” Harry says, all chirpy, and Louis doesn’t quite know what to say besides smiling shyly as he sits at the kitchen counter. He notes that the take-out boxes have been thrown out, and his dishes washed, and he gulps picturing Harry cleaning his flat.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, slowly creeping closer to his kettle. He desperately needs a cup of tea, and he prepares it, going on his tip-toe to grab his favourite mug. He feels Harry’s eyes on him.

He fills the kettle and turns it on, eyeing Harry all the while. After snapping his attention back to the sizzling pan, Harry piles the bacon on a plate, his back muscles shifting underneath his thin tee-shirt.

“I slept there,” he begins, shrugging and hitting up another pan to cook the pancakes. “Your couch is much more comfortable than it looks.”

 _My bed is even better,_ Louis wants to say, but he keeps his mouth tightly shut. Instead, he glances at the batter, raising an eyebrow when he spots little spots of purple.

“What are you doing for brekkie?” Louis asks, going on his tip-toes to look over Harry’s shoulder.

 _“Brekkie,”_ Harry mutters to himself. “You’re cute.”

Louis blushes and holds his hand up to tug on Harry’s hair, making the man groan.

“Are you always this aggressive?” Harry huffs, glancing at him. Louis smiles sweetly. “I’m doing blueberry pancakes with bacon, for the record.”

Louis isn’t even aware he had blueberries laying around. Nodding to himself, he decides Harry can keep going, seeing as he’s doing something that sounds (and actually smells) so good. Then, they will talk. In the meantime, he can enjoy being around Harry again. He steals a piece of bacon before Harry can do anything about it, and chews on it happily. Years of drinking steaming hot tea has rendered him practically heat-proof. He grabs a cup of tea and starts to pour himself a bit of water to which he adds a teabag and some milk.

“No tea for me?” Harry teases, flipping a perfectly round pancake with a flick of his wrist. Louis blinks. He wasn’t aware he’s got a fucking masterchef in his kitchen.

“Not for criminals,” Louis answers, even if he takes from the cupboard another cup. Fortunately for him, he owns enough cups to open his own small shop, so he doesn’t have to climb up the counter to reach the deep end of the cupboard. He makes sure to grab the one that reads across its front in cursive, red letters, _'_ _but mama, I’m in love with a criminal’._ He thinks the message’s obvious and fitting to his situation, with the right dose of irony. If Harry understands what Louis’ goal is here, then so be it. He does Harry’s tea the way he does his own, but hen adds a teaspoon of sugar, knowing that’s how Harry takes it.

He turns around and leans against the counter, with his tea cup cradled in his hands.

“I’m hungry,” he announces, or rather, whines, and it does the trick since Harry picks up a blueberry pancake and hands it over to Louis, who is way too happy as he grabs it and starts to stuff his mouth.

Harry is watching him with something that Louis reckons to be fondness. He looks away and continues chewing, humming happily around his full mouth. They’re good, the pancakes, fluffy and buttery and sweet, and when Louis takes a sip of steaming hot tea, he’s sure he’s gone to heaven and come back.

Louis comes closer to Harry, and pats Harry’s chest. He ignores how alluring the muscles feel there and forces himself to whirl around and walks away.

“I want five-hundred of those pancakes,” he says loudly.

He doesn’t need to see it to hear the amusement in Harry’s voice as he answers, “Sure, love.”

Louis quite likes being called 'love', though he doesn’t show it or say it. He only nods to himself and mumbles ‘good’, then he’s walking out of the living room and into his bedroom.

A quick glance at the corner of the room has him known that Harry also did his laundry. He takes a deep breath and tries not to let his emotions get to him. Harry doesn’t do relationships, he reminds himself. He can’t get ahead of himself and end up knocked off his horse. 

Once he feels better, he goes back to the kitchen and sits down at the counter, swinging his feet back and forth since he can’t touch the ground when sat on a stool. Louis nods in appreciation as Harry places a plate full of glistening pancakes in front of him. They’re drenched in maple syrup, which he’s a hundred percent sure Harry brought with him since he doesn’t remember ever buying any, and he grabs his fork and knife and starts to eat, practically moaning the moment his taste buds are bathed in the sweet flavour of blueberries and sugar.

“Good?” Harry asks softly, and when Louis looks up there’s something in Harry’s eyes that makes Louis’ lower belly tickle. He can only nod, licking off his lips the sweet, sticky honey-textured liquid, and he watches as Harry tracks the movement, as if caught up in a spell.

It’s only broken when Harry looks down and starts to eat. Louis grabs his glass of orange juice and sips it, and doesn’t even pull a face when the sweetness of the juice collides with the marple sirup, making the taste turn slightly bitter. Somehow, the silence isn’t even awkward. It’s comfortable, with both of them eating together. They don’t talk about what happened a week ago, and Louis is perfectly on board with that. Being at a table like that with Harry almost makes Louis forget the beef they have going on. 

Harry finishes before him, but he waits for Louis to be also done to grab both of their plates. He watches Harry as he makes his way to the kitchen and starts to wash their sticky plates, the sound of running water slightly overpowering Harry’s whistle.

The water stops, then Harry is turning around, drying his hands on a cloth. Their eyes meet, and Louis does that thing with his eyelashes once again, the thing that used to make bouncers weak in the knees and let him inside clubs even though he wasn’t yet of age. He sees the way Harry’s eyes linger on his face, wanting, _lusting,_ and Louis is almost ashamed that the look on Harry’s face makes him want, too. He wants Harry to come closer and grab him, manhandle him around, maybe lay him down over the table and slowly, oh so slowly, undress him…

Caught in his daydream, Louis doesn’t see when Harry moves until he’s standing next to him, so he jumps when he feels a warm breath on his ear, and heat radiating from Harry’s body.

“Come,” Harry whispers, taking Louis’ hand in his own and guiding them to the couches. Louis relaxes and sits down, leaning back against the cushion, twitching when Harry sits close. His eyes are intense as he studies Louis’ face, probably seeking the answer to a silent question, and Louis waits, biting his lips. He doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes linger on them.

“I owe you an explanation,” he begins, passing a hand through his unruly hair. Louis’ fingers twitch, wishing he could do it too. Instead he nods, keeping his mouth shut, expecting.

Harry sighs again, and Louis can tell it’s difficult for him to talk about it. He’s about to reach over and takes Harry’s hand in support, but then he thinks of the pain he felt throughout the entire week and keeps it on his lap.

“Do you remember what Jacob and Dave said, about me not dating people?”

Louis nods, putting his hands between his thighs to prevent himself from grabbing Harry. His nails dig in his palms, probably creating croissant-shaped wounds.

“They’re right,” Harry looks embarrassed, but also in pain. “Being in med school meant that I didn’t have time to do the whole dating thing. It was easier to sleep around here and there.”

He takes a deep breath and looks Louis in the eye.

“I tried dating Benjamin,” he admits. “We were… friends with benefits, I guess? Then I asked him if he wanted to be my boyfriend, he said yes, and it seemed so easy, you know?”

He shrugs and glances at the ceiling. “Needless to say, it went to shit. Then I thought that maybe by putting a label on our relationship, I led to our fall-out. I stopped trying. One night stands became even more practical.”

Louis’ heart breaks thinking about Harry being rejected by who he assumes was his first, and last, boyfriend. The bad experience regarding relationships made Harry wary of commitment, and now that Louis understands him, he feels more ready to forgive Harry for the pain he’s put him through. He tentatively reaches over, taking Harry’s hand in his.

“So you have… commitment issues?” Louis wonders softly, and he’s pleased when Harry squeezes his fingers.

Harry frowns. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but I hope that by knowing this, you’ll understand why I… ignored you after that night.”

He then straightens up and takes Louis’ hands in his larger ones, bringing them to his chest. He sounds so sincere, so earnest, that Louis wants to kiss him.

“I am so, so sorry for what I did to you. The truth is, I was a coward. I’m afraid of my feelings for you, and I’m even more afraid of losing you because of how I feel.”

He sounds almost desperate now, eyes shining with regret. He gulps and seems to wait for an answer, and from the way he hunches in on himself, he expects to be rejected. 

Louis hurts so much. Not for himself, but for Harry.

He cradles Harry’s face and brings their faces close to one another, and he pecks Harry’s lips sweetly. When he speaks, his lips brush against Harry’s, and he watches as Harry looks at him in admiration.

“What if I told you that I feel the same?” he whispers, being careful not to scare Harry away, trying to convey his feelings through his caresses and soft eyes. A small grin appears on Harry’s face, and the curly-haired man grabs his wrist and brings his palm to his lips to kiss it.

“We can try,” he tells Louis, something akin to hope colouring his tone.

Louis cocks his head, wetting his lips. “Chocolate and flowers?” he blinks sweetly at Harry, which startles a fond laugh out of the taller man.

He nods. “Chocolate and flowers and movies and anything you want.”

This time, when their lips meet, they don’t stop.

(Well, they kind-of have to when they find Calanthe glaring at them from across the room, so they take it to the bedroom. But then, they don’t come out until the sun has set and they’re both bone-tired).

  
  


-

  
  


Louis wakes up from a night full of dreams. He leaves a world where Harry holds his hands and fucks him on the beach for the reality of a Saturday morning. The sun’s shining faintly through the windows and falling onto his face, since he’s forgotten to draw the curtains closed the night prior. The weather isn’t changing, and it’s still too cold to his liking, but since Harry has repaired his heater, his toes aren’t suffering nearly as much as they used to. He sighs and rubs his eyes while he makes his way to the bathroom.

He showers, brushes his teeth and dresses up in skinny jeans, a pair of heeled leather boots, a tee-shirt and a thick hoodie that he tops off with his winter red coat. Then he goes to the kitchen and gathers the cakes he’s baked in a large straw basket, making sure everything is secure. He spots his phone and wallet which he puts in his purse, and tries not to pout as he glances around and doesn’t see Harry. He has had to leave early in the morning for an emergency at the clinic, and Louis being Louis has slapped Harry’s face away when he tried to kiss him. _It’s too bloody fucking early, Harry, lemme sleep,_ he had groaned. He remembers the fond chuckle he got in return and the lingering kiss on his forehead.

He looks down at Calanthe and winks at her. 

“Bye, darling!” he calls as he leaves his flat, and before the door clicks closed he hears a high-pitched meow, a sweet farewell.

He knows he has a stupid smile on his face as he thinks about the previous night. For the first time in… ever, he slept with Harry’s arm over his waist. It was one of the best nights of his life, sated from coming three times, and warm from Harry’s body heat. He reaches the lobby and gives a toothy smile to Paul.

“Hi, Paulie!” he waves and skips to the door. Paul looks at him up and down, raising an eyebrow.

“Cupid’s struck you with an arrow or what?” he chuckles, and Louis blushes and shrugs.

“Kinda,” he winks then he’s out of the door before Paul can even muster a reply. He quickly walks among the bodies of strangers, keeping his head down as he feels snow falling on him and melting through his clothes. He knows the path by heart, anyway, so it doesn’t take long for him to get to the quaint building of St Mungo’s. There he wipes the bottom of his shoes on the doormat and pushes open the door, Leslie already there to greet him. There’s a beaming smile on her face as she hugs him, and he responds to it with a smile of his own.

“You put these on the tables, alright love? Also,” she frowns with a confused smile. “Are you sure you’re quite alright, dear? Why are you smiling so much.”

Louis pats Leslie’s shoulder, flushing. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry. I just… had an amazing night.”

Leslie raises an eyebrow and snorts, then she pats his cheek and urges him to the kitchen. There he starts to unload the basket, removing aluminium foil paper from the cakes and grabbing a knife to cut them into even servings. He gets a bit lost in it, finding it therapeutic to cut the cakes and place the slices prettily in plates, so honestly, it’s totally justified when he nearly stabs the person behind him in the eye. For his defence, he’s been so focused on the task at hands that he didn’t expect to be touched.

“Jesus,” Harry hisses, leaning back as he grabs Louis’ wrist. The wrist that’s connected to the hand that’s holding the knife. The knife which is only centimeters away from Harry’s face. Harry’s expression is a mix of disbelief and terror, and maybe amusement, though Louis is too shocked to pay enough attention to Harry. He probably should apologize, but Louis has never been known to act rationally.

Instead he uses his free hand to smack Harry’s chest.

“What.” _Slap._ “The fuck.” _Slap._ ‘Is wrong.” _Slap._ “With you?” _Slap._ “You fucking imbecile, I could have, I don’t know, killed you!”

Louis sees Harry relax, and a smile spreads over his face, and Louis is so confused because why in the hell is Harry smiling? Harry’s grip loosens on Louis’ wrist, though he doesn’t let go. Instead Harry uses his other hand, which has been on Louis’ hip, to grab the knife and put it down on the table. He pulls on Louis’ wrist and kisses him, circling Louis’ waist with his arms. Louis melts into Harry’s body, humming happily.

“Sorry for scaring you, my love,” Harry says instead, his voice gentle, tentative, as if he were afraid the name was too much. Louis should probably scream, because _c’mon,_ he nearly fucking stabbed Harry. Instead, he nestles his face into Harry’s chest, breathing in the delicious, manly cologne, and hiding the blush that has blossomed over his cheeks. 

They don’t speak, only look at each other. Or, well, Louis is rather staring at Harry's chest tattoos that he can see since Harry never bothers with the first three buttons of his shirts, while Harry is looking straight at him and nuzzling in his hair. Louis kisses the patch of exposed skin then takes a step back, planning on going back to the task.

“Didn’t miss me too much this morning, I hope?” Harry smirks as he picks a knife himself and begins cutting the cakes with Louis. Louis juts his bottom lip out, cocking his hip.

“Yes, I missed you very much, and I hate you for leaving me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow and bends down to bite at Louis’ earlobe. In retaliation, Louis elbows Harry’s side.

“Are you going to bother me all day, or can I bring out those magnificent cakes that I baked?” Louis grins, grabbing the plates full of sweets.

A lopsided smile appears on Harry’s face. “Only if I get to taste them.”

Louis grabs two plates and rolls his eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

He doesn’t wait for Harry, though he knows Harry follows him after having grabbed two more plates himself. Leslie gives them a thumbs-up as they put down the plates with the other desserts, and Louis looks curiously at Harry as he sees him linger, instead of going back to the savory foods, where Harry’s quiches await.

“Would you, hm,” Harry starts, but then he gulps and shakes his head. “See ya!”

Then he’s off, smiling over at several people. Louis raises an eyebrow, blinking in confusion, but then he spots Leslie and he smiles over at her as she approaches him.

“So,” she begins nonchalantly, elbowing him gently. “Harry, huh?”

Jesus fucking Christ. They really aren’t subtle.

“Harry what,” he answers, taking a piece of chocolate and vanilla cake and placing it on the plate of one of their regulars, Jace. 

Leslie raises her eyebrow. “I’m not blind, Louis. He’s interested in you! And good-looking, and so sweet! You should go for it, I say.”

Louis purses his lips and feels his cheeks heat up. “We’re kind of seeing each other already.”

She squeals, grabbing his elbow in her excitement. “Really? Oh my god, that’s wonderful!”

Louis shushes her and focuses on handing out plates, but no matter how hard he tries, in the end he can’t help himself but glance at Harry who’s at the other side of the room. Like some kind of cliché their eyes meet, and Harry doesn’t look away, holding eye contact. It’s Louis who breaks it, flushing and staring straight ahead. Their relationship is still so new, yet it feels so wonderful. He hopes Harry is still looking at him. He can admit to himself that he likes when Harry’s attention is on him, though he doesn’t chance a glance to confirm anything. Instead, he smiles at Veronica, a thirty-five year old woman who’s been living on the streets for seven years, and tries to take his mind off the curly-haired man.

He’s never been so enamoured with someone the way he is with Harry. It’s both thrilling and terrifying. 

_C’mon, Louis, you can go a few hours without him._

Easier said than done.

Despite his inner turmoil, the hours tick by in the blink of an eye, and before he knows it he is cleaning plates and glasses, forearms deep into soapy water. He’s humming _Believer_ to himself, swaying his hips gently to the rhythm he’s setting to himself. He’s gotten into it now, so he automatically reaches to his right to put the plates to dry, then he’s back to rubbing the forks and knives clean. He frowns when there’s a knock echoing from behind him, and glances over his shoulder to see who it might be.

It’s Harry, standing in the doorway, looking ethereal even after a day spent standing and working. He looks even taller than usual, with his thick coat and leather boots, and there’s a scarf carelessly wrapped around his neck that Louis’ sure he didn’t have when they saw each other earlier in the day. One of his hands is in his coat’s pocket and the other, the one he used to knock on the door, is passing through his hair. A fire immediately ignites in his lower belly, because goddammit, Harry is gorgeous.

“Hi,” he says softly, frowning when he remembers the water running, and thinking that Harry probably didn’t hear him because of it. Except he gets a feeble smile in return, a sure sign that Harry somehow received the breathed little word.

“Hi,” Harry answers, taking a step into the kitchen. “Can I come in?”

Louis wants to tell him, _hell no,_ just to be a little shit, but he also really wants Harry close to him, more than anything else. Taking in Harry’s soft eyes, his prominent yet unsure posture, Louis can’t help it when a smile blooms on his face. It’s obvious Harry tries his hardest. “It’s not my kitchen, so.”

He hears Harry mutter, _right,_ as he walks closer. Even after the long day they had, Louis can smell his cologne. It’s alluring and makes something inside of him shift, so he hides his burning hot cheeks by focusing his gaze back on the task at hand. There isn’t much left to wash, and usually he’d speed up to be done with it, but he starts to wash even slower than before, being particularly thorough. In the distance, he can hear the people who are in charge of cleaning up the room chatting. Louis has always preferred cleaning up the tables instead of doing the dishes, but well, he wanted to change a bit. He feels Harry move to stand next to him, his back to the sink as he leans against the counter and grabs a cloth.

God, he wants to get fucked right there against the counter. He blushes and tries to walk all over his arousal, which hits him like a cannonball.

Maybe if he’d gone to church when he was little as his mother told him to, instead of fucking off with that kid called Jonah to attend stupid poetry session that was more poetic porn than anything else, then maybe God wouldn’t punish him today. That must be it, the reason for his urges, so he frowns and rubs angrily at the plate until it’s as clean as it can get, before passing it over to Harry. Water drops splash all over Harry’s coat, creating dark contrasts on the fabric, but Harry doesn’t seem to care as he takes the plate and starts to dry it up with the cloth.

Maybe God’s punishing him because he hasn’t given Harry’s sweater back, but who can blame him? It’s so soft and it smells so good, even if it’s ugly. Anyway, he doubts Harry wants it back. He’s going to keep it until Harry actually asks for it, and then he’ll just complain about the ice cream Harry stole from him or something. Tit for Tat. 

He plans on stealing even more clothes from Harry in the future, since they’re trying their hands at dating and all. 

They keep the pattern of Louis washing and Harry drying until they’ve gone through the entire piles of plates, glasses, and cutlery. By then Louis has managed to tame his face back into submission, so he turns the tap off and snatches the damp cloth right out of Harry’s hands, drying his own water-dripping fingers.

Harry doesn’t look offended though. By then he’s probably picked up on Louis’ habits, so he only stares as Louis walks around him, swaying his hips (unintentionally, of course) as he puts his own coat on and picks up his empty basket.

“Ready?” Louis asks, pulling his forearm up with the basket. 

Harry raises an eyebrow.

Louis scoffs. “You’re not going to walk me back home? What a gentleman you are.”

A beaming smile appears on Harry’s face as he scrambles over to Louis, almost tripping on air. A soft little blush is already on his cheeks and Louis has to bite his lips to hold himself back from laughing. Harry straightens himself up and bows, his arms outstretched towards the door.

“May I walk you home?”

“You may,” Louis feels giddy with fondness as he starts to walk. Harry is not far behind him, and Louis spots Leslie next to the door, and she’s quick to see them too as her eyes glance at them and light up.

“You’re already going?” Leslie asks, tilting her head to the side as she eyes both Louis and Harry, thrilled.

“It’s getting late,” Louis answers, patting her shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.”

She nods, shifting her attention to Harry.

“Gotta go too,” Harry tells her, a gentle smile on his face. “I’ll see you next week. Say hi to Jessie!”

“Will do!” she laughs, winking at him. Then she addresses the both of them. “Thank you for today, guys. See you soon!”

They walk out of St Mungo’s in silence, the crisp air of the late hour cocooning them. The night is awake with spots of colours and cars flying by, people chatting and laughing in sombre corners of the streets, and it is alive with random sounds fading in the background. Louis walks closer to Harry, their arms almost brushing as together they set off for their building. They don’t really need to talk, not for a while, not until Louis looks up into Harry’s defined jaw and sees a lonely soul who has stumbled across London, like so many other people.

Like Louis.

Wordlessly, Louis puts his arm through Harry’s, and he sees the surprised, but pleased expression that falls upon Harry’s face. He moves his arm so that they’re walking with their bodies pressed to one another, two drops of colour in a canvas of infinities. 

“So,” Louis begins, the cold air making pearly white smoke comes out of his mouth and fades into the air. “Why did you come to London?”

The lines of Harry’s face relax as he digs into his coat’s pocket, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. With his arm still intertwined with Louis’, he puts a stick in between his lips and lights it up, taking a long and slow drag from it and puffing the smoke away from Louis. Seeing Harry smoke is sexier than it has any right to be, and Louis is not one to glorify smoking, alright, but he can’t deny the imagery appeal of Harry’s jaw sharpening as he inhales the tobacco. 

Harry glances down at him with gentle eyes. “London’s the city of opportunities, isn’t it? I used to work in Manchester, but I wanted a change of scenery, and London sounded like a good idea.” 

“Is it?” Louis wonders, glancing around at the busy streets. Harry’s eyes don’t stray away from him. “A good idea, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, voice low, as he takes a drag from his half-finished cigarette. “I found something worth staying for.”

Louis gulps, his cheeks burning. “Yeah?”

Harry hums, guiding them closer to the wall, where they can get a sense of privacy, where they can hear each other better. Louis frowns as he looks up, and with quick fingers he snatches the cigarette from Harry’s hand and takes a drag out of it. He has to swallow down his expression of disgust because holy shit, that’s really nasty, but he loves feeling the wet end of the stick in between his lips, feeling a bit as if he were kising Harry. Wordlessly, Louis crushes the cigarette against the wall and throws the butt in a passing trash bin, not caring the slightest bit that a good bit was still left to be smoked. 

“Well,” Harry chuckles, shaking his head fondly. “Something annoying, maybe, but still worth it.”

Louis makes an offended noise from the back of his throat, stepping over Harry’s boot-cladded toes.

 _“You’re_ annoying,” he retorts, smiling when he sees Harry’s raised eyebrow. 

“If you say so, princess,” is what Harry answers, a stupid goofy smile on his face that Louis wants to simultaneously slap off and kiss. Louis goes for both, of course, as he digs his index finger in Harry’s cheek with enough force for Harry’s head to tilt away, and as he goes on his tip-toes to plant a kiss where his finger had been seconds ago.

“Don’t call me princess, laundry-destroyer,” Louis says sternly, jabbing his forefinger several times in Harry’s dimple, until Harry has to grab Louis’ wrist with his own bigger hand, putting a stop to the incessant poking. Harry mouths _laundry-destroyer_ in obvious disbelief, and Louis ignores it in favour of asking Harry some more questions. What? While he’s here he might as well get to know his potential boyfriend.

 _Boyfriend._ He feels himself blush, and is almost afraid that there’s smoke coming from where thin snowflakes meet his burning up cheeks. Unconsciously, he walks closer to Harry’s body, sparking something dangerous within him as he feels Harry try to bring them even closer.

“Louis?” Harry says after a while, and when Louis looks up, there is a hesitant smile on his face. “Will you tell me if I ever do something wrong? And I mean by that, if I’m too clingy, or too annoying. You can tell me.”

Louis softens, kissing Harry’s shoulder. “I want everything with you. The kisses and the random hugs and the banter and I want to wake up to your stinky breath.”

Harry pretends to be offended, narrowing his eyes at Louis, though they’re shining. He ducks his head to press a kiss against Louis’ temple.

“Between you and I, I reckon you’re the one with the stinky breath.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” Louis bristles as they come to a stop, about to cross the road. Cars fly by and more and more people gather next to them, impatiently waiting for the little stick figure to turn to green. He watches as Harry pulls funny faces at a toddler who’s laughing delightedly whenever Harry crosses his eyes or sticks his tongue out to catch a pearl of snow as it comes down from the sky. It’s adorable, and he’s always wanted a partner that loves kids, because he might not act like it most of the time, but he’s always yearned for a family of his own. 

Yeah, it’s way too soon to think of having a family with Harry.

He takes a deep breath and looks away, letting himself be pulled across the long road as they cross it. Soon enough, they can see their building, which grows bigger the closer they get to it. Harry doesn’t let go of him as he pushes open the double doors. They step inside, and instantly they’re greeted by Paul, whose eyes fall upon their linked arms in great astonishment. A delighted smile slowly appears on his face as he bids them _good_ night, emphasis on the ‘good’, and Louis has to stop himself from digging his own grave. Paul is like a father to him, for God’s sake. Even Harry has got a soft little blush on the apples of his cheeks.

Louis assumes Harry will break off and go to his own flat, but instead, he walks with Louis. They take the stairs to his floor, not speaking a word. It’s silent all around them, except for a few flats where random noises waltz from and the loud beating of Louis’ heart. Louis looks down at his damp shoes while he fishes his keys out and untangles his arm from Harry’s. He inserts the key inside the keyhole and pushes open the door, stopping in the doorway and turning around to face Harry.

Seeing Harry standing in front of his door reminds him of the first time he’s ever seen Harry. And although Harry came because of what occurred in the utility room, he catches himself thinking back to it all in fondness. He watches as Harry bites his lips and leans against the wall, now way closer to Louis than before. The basket lays forgotten at Louis’ feet, and Louis momentarily stops breathing when one of Harry’s hands reach up and a gentle thumb caresses the skin of his cheek.

It’s so soft, the touch. It makes goosebumps travel down Louis’ back, and he leans into it, unconsciously wanting more. He wants more. He wants more with Harry Styles, he can feel it deep in his bones, and he’s not scared of admitting it. At least, not to himself. His eyes flutter open and he gazes up into Harry’s eyes, and up close they’re so green, brilliant and vibrating with life.

Louis closes his eyes once again and tilts his head back, fully ready to meet Harry halfway. Harry’s soft lips are on his own, and they kiss slowly, their tongues shyly touching one another. The butterfly-soft touch on his face flies away, and when he finds it in himself to open his eyes, Harry is looking at him in such a way that for a moment, he can barely breathe. There’s longing and want burning in the deepest parts of Harry’s eyes.

“Come,” he whispers, taking a step back into the flat. Harry follows.

With his heart beating in his throat, Louis leans back against the hard surface of the door and lets himself be kissed silly. Harry is holding him as if he were a doll made out of glass. His fingers dance over Louis’ skin as he licks Louis’ neck. Louis tries to unbutton Harry’s shirt, frantically tugging on it, and with a chuckle Harry helps him. Soon, Harry’s shirtless and Louis’ mouth floods with saliva. He wants to lick Harry’s tattoos, trace their curves with the tip of his tongue.

They’re about to go to the bedroom when something latches on Harry’s leg, making him jump. Louis frowns and when he glances down, he finds Calanthe glaring up at them, her claws digging into the fabric of Harry’s jeans. She meows loudly and repeatedly, and Louis laughs, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Ok, baby, you’re hungry, I get it,” he rolls his eyes and goes to the kitchen, pouring cat food in her little bowl. He laughs to tears as Harry tries to walk, with a very angry kitten stuck to his leg. He ends up laughing himself, shaking his head at Louis.

“Cock-blocked by a cat,” he mutters, bending down and trying to scoop her up, though her grip is tight and he struggles for several minutes until Louis rushes to help him. Calanthe slaps Harry’s cheek with her paw, and Louis grabs her and kisses her head.

“Be nice, baby,” he mumbles against her fur as he sets her down, and she immediately jumps on the food.

“You sired a brat,” Harry teases, pulling Louis against his chest. Louis only hums and lets Harry bite his ear lobe and lick it, and he has to bite his lips as Harry buries his head in the crook of his neck, creating love bites.

He slaps Harry’s chest, glancing over his shoulder at him. “Calanthe is right here, mind her poor eyes!”

Harry smirks. “My bad.”

Then he throws Louis over his shoulder and makes a beeline for the bedroom, Louis giggling all the while.

  
  


-

  
  


Fingers caress his thigh, and he smiles against the pillow. He glances behind him at Harry, who seems to have been awake for a while, and from the way his head is propped up on his palm, it seems he’s been watching Louis sleep. Louis flushes and nuzzles into Harry’s chest.

“Morning,” he whispers shyly as Harry ducks down and kisses his forehead.

“Morning, baby,” Harry answers, hugging Louis close to him.

They stay like that in bed for a while, enjoying their Sunday, but then Louis blinks and thinks about the beautiful, white dog he hurt. He straightens up and flips on his belly, the sheet pooling down his back and stopping just above the swell of his ass. He kicks his feet up.

“How’s the dog doing? Haven’t heard about it in a while,” he frowns, feeling bad for not checking on it sooner. Truthfully, he’s been so busy lately that he barely has time to do groceries.

Harry smiles, his dimples appearing. Louis melts inside.

“He’s doing wonderful,” Harry informs him. “If you want, we can go see him today?”

Louis’ eyes light up and he jumps on Harry, kissing him until Harry’s cock twitches and he ends up fucking Louis into the mattress. 

They dress up quickly, and it takes much too long since Harry keeps kissing Louis. Once in the kitchen, Harry cuts them apples while Louis feeds Calanthe.

“Ready?” Harry asks him, handing the bowl of apple over. Louis snacks on a piece, nodding.

Outside, the air is chilly, and Louis sticks close to Harry as they walk to the clinic. He’s looking around at the stores when he feels fingers close around his own, and when he looks down, Harry has taken his hand. Butterflies wreak havoc in his belly and he flushes. It’s the first time they’ve held hands in public, and Louis never wants Harry to let go.

Harry pushes open the clinic’s door and Louis steps inside. There’s someone behind the counter, a young boy with red hair and freckles, and a massive donut in his mouth. He nearly chokes on it when he sees Harry, his eyes widening as he takes the greasy dough out of his mouth.

He clears. “Mr. Styles,” he smiles. “Didn’t expect ya today, boss!”

Harry smiles gently at the boy. “I know, Thomas. I’ve come here with my, uh, partner to check on Cerberus.”

Thomas jerks his head and gestures for a door, and Harry guides them to it. Partner. Louis wants to roll his eyes. Instead, he focuses on the problem at hand.

“You named that sweet dog, Cerberus?” he looks at Harry in disbelief, who shrugs with a lopsided smile.

“I wanted to give him a Greek name.”

 _Like Calanthe,_ is left unsaid, but Louis hears it loud and clear and he honest-to-god wants to get on his knees and suck Harry’s cock.

He doesn’t, of course. He tightens his grip on Harry’s hand as they stop in front of a large bed, and Cerberus lays within it. He perks up when he spots Harry and barks, and Louis sighs in relief when the dog stands up and practically runs to Harry, though it is a bit difficult with the cast clasped around his broken leg.

Harry crouches down and welcomes the dog with a big smile, kissing his head. “Hello, my boy, I see you’re doing well!”

Biting his lips, Louis also crouches down, though he doesn’t dare reach out to touch Cerberus. What if he remembers that it was Louis who hit him with his car? The thought tears Louis apart, and he looks down nervously as Cerberus’ golden eyes find him. 

Harry takes his hand and kisses the back of it. “It’s okay, baby.”

Uneasily, Louis lets Harry guide his hand to Cerberus’ head, and he’s sure the dog is going to bite his fingers off, but then instead of that Cerberus licks at his digits and nestles his head against Louis’ chest. With a relieved and happy smile, Louis caresses the beautiful dog.

“You’re stunning,” he tells Cerberus, who barks and pants and runs to a red ball across the room. He kicks it at Louis, who catches it as it rolls across the floor, and he throws it at Cerberus, who manages to catch it effortlessly. He laughs happily and continues to play with the dog, aware of Harry’s fond gaze on them.

“He’s so adorable,” Louis sighs happily as Cerberus falls on his back and looks up at him, asking for belly rubs.

Harry nods, massaging Cerberus’ head. “I know. That’s why I kinda want to adopt him. He doesn’t have an owner, which is very surprising seeing as he’s a Shepherd. But he’s been there for fifteen days and no one has been looking for a white Shepherd, so, why not?”

It’s a wonderful idea, and Louis perks up as an idea strikes him.

“He can meet Calanthe! I’m sure they’ll get along.”

Harry cocks his head and frowns. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, but we can give it a try. But before getting ahead of yourselves, I need to think about it some more. I live in a flat and I don’t want Cerberus to be miserable. I know the flat is big, and I know that I will gladly take him for a walk in the morning and before the sun sets, but I’m concerned about how he will feel once I’m gone for the day.”

Louis licks his lips and hums, scratching behind Cerberus’ ear. “I work from home, so he can come over at mine during the day so we can play, and he’ll have Calanthe! This can work!”

Harry still doesn’t look convinced, but he offers Louis a tender smile and leans down to kiss Louis. For several seconds, Harry watches the blue-eyed man, and Louis flushes as he sees how fond Harry looks. He never thought he’d be on the receiving end of such a look, but now that he is, he can’t get enough.

It’s nice to feel loved.

Harry stands up, offering his hand to Louis. 

“Does ice cream sound good?”

Louis giggles and lets himself be pulled up, hugging Harry’s middle, his cheek pressed against Harry’s chest.

“Only if it’s chocolate mint flavoured,” he agrees.

  
  


-

  
  


Louis watches the muscles in Harry’s back move as the curly-haired man kneads the dough, a frown on his face, showing just how focused he is. The moment is peaceful, with the sun faintly filtering through the window, the heater pumping heat into the medium-sized room, the scented candles spicing up the air with their delicate fragrance. Louis slowly plays with Harry’s rings, which Harry gave to him earlier before touching the dough.

“You know,” Louis says loudly, biting his lips when instantly, Harry’s attention is on him. He loves it. No, he positively _adores_ it that no matter what, Harry is always ready for him. Louis tilts his head to the side with a smirk. “There’s something else you could knead right now.”

It takes a few seconds for Harry to understand it, but when he does, his green eyes turn several shades darker and a slow, knowing smirk makes its way onto his face.

“Patience, baby,” Harry answers, slapping the dough once before putting it back into the large bowl to raise some more. 

Harry has made it his life mission to cook for Louis as much as possible. It’s awfully, wonderfully domestic, and Louis has been over the moon for the past three weeks. Ever since they’ve talked about Harry’s insecurities regarding relationships, they’ve been seeing each other more often, usually whenever Harry shows up at Louis’ doorstep to drop a box full of homemade food, or whenever Louis shows up at Harry’s doorstep to drop… well, not food, but something, be it a new movie he wants to watch or a book he has read and wants Harry to read too. They’ve been having sex more and more, exploring each other’s bodies, losing themselves to pleasure. But outside the bedroom, they slowly open up to one another, like a flower at the beginning of spring. Although they haven’t gone on a date ( _yet,_ Louis hopes), they’ve been getting more and more comfortable with one another, cocooned by their routines. 

Harry has grown more confident. He doesn’t hold back from showering Louis with his affection, and Louis is _thriving._ The more attention he gets from Harry, the brighter he shines. He’s never been happier.

Harry is baking cinnamon rolls for them. It’s actually the third time he’s made them, having found out a few days ago (yes, Harry baked cinnamon rolls three times in such a small span of time. Louis has decided Harry is just perfect) that Louis’ favourite thing is cinnamon rolls. It’s little gestures like this that keep stirring his feelings towards dangerous territories, and Louis is aware that slowly, but surely, he’s falling.

And he’s scared. He’s scared of admitting anything, resulting in Harry pushing him away. It’s ironic, how Harry’s fear has become his too, but he feels like their relationship is still too tender to progress any further. They need to date, do everything properly before Louis can mutter the three words on the tip of his tongue without scaring Harry off. So for now, he considers them lovers, or something along the lines. Lovers who haven’t gone on a date (yet) but who annoys each other and spends too much time stealing looks that are filled with lust and need.

He’s never been so attracted to someone, both physically and mentally. Harry is clever, and sweet, and caring and everything Louis wants in a partner. He’s also attractive, and knows how to turn Louis into a pliant moaning mess. It’s come to a point where Louis always earns for the simplest of touch, which is why the moment Harry’s hands are clean, he crowds into Harry’s space, pushing his face into Harry’s chest. Harry doesn’t even bat an eye, wrapping his arms around Louis’ smaller form, dropping a kiss on top of Louis’ head.

“You smell so good,” Harry mumbles in his hair, dropping kisses there.

Butterflies threaten to spill out of his lips. He’s overwhelmed with joy, and Lord knows it’s never happened before. Well, maybe once when his first, fat paycheck arrived in his bank account and he was able to buy everything he’s ever wanted. But he’s never felt so safe with someone, so _himself._

He looks up at Harry, batting his long eyelashes. “I want cinnamon rolls,” he whines, rubbing his cheek against Harry’s chest and scrunching up his nose when Harry drops a kiss on its tip.

“They need to rest some more, but dinner will be ready soon,” Harry smirks, his hands migrating to Louis’ waist, resting there. 

Resting where they belong.

Blushing, Louis jerks his head and takes a step backward, turning around and walking quickly to the couches, where he throws his body on, trying his hardest to cool down his burning cheeks. He stays there, sprawled onto his belly until a warm body comes to stand next to him and an equally warm breath fans over his ear. 

“Dinner’s ready, baby.”

Louis shivers at Harry’s voice, freezing when Harry’s hand lingers on the small of his back, just above the swell of his arse. What a fucking tease, Louis thinks bitterly, as the weight disappears and Harry strolls back to the kitchen, taking the roasted chicken and the homemade bread out of the oven. It smells heavenly, and after patting his cheeks, Louis stands up and goes to sit at the table, which he set up earlier. His mouth waters as Harry puts the chicken down and the bread, as well as the rich and creamy sauce. Before Louis can even reach for the bottle of chilled water, Harry is grabbing his plate and putting a generous amount of chicken and sauce. Then, Harry grabs the loaf of bread with a clean towel and cuts it into thick, crispy, generous pieces.

“Thank you,” Louis says happily, biting into the bread and chewing, moaning. It’s bread, for God’s sake, it’s not some five-star meal, but the bread tastes so amazing. He knows Harry is watching him, tracking his movement as he cuts a piece of chicken, dips it into a bit of sauce and lets the flavours explode against his taste buds.

“This is so good, Haz,” Louis says dreamily. Harry’s answering smile is blinding, and together they eat, not really talking. They don’t need to. Sometimes, Harry brushes his fingers against Louis’ thigh, or Louis fills Harry’s glass back up. They interact naturally, without ever being forced to. When they finish eating Harry takes his time loading the dish washing and Louis cleans the table, putting leftovers in the boxes and storing them in the fridge.

Strong, confident arms circle his waist and Louis turns around, smiling up at Harry. He melts when Harry smiles back and ducks down to kiss him, Harry’s slightly chapped, plush lips pressing gently against Louis’ thinner ones. Louis’ gloss renders the touch sticky, but it’s perfect, oh so perfect, especially when Louis lets out a whimper and Harry pushes his tongue past Louis’ lips, licking into Louis' mouth like a starved man. Ironic, seeing as they’ve just finished eating. Harry tastes like their meal and menthol, and Louis can’t have enough. He doesn’t want it to the end, so he clings to Harry even more, pushing his face closer to Harry’s, allowing himself to get lost in the pool of feelings that slowly fill him up. Is he drowning? Why does he feel so overwhelmed, so ready to bolt out, so unbalanced? He tightens his arms around Harry and chases after the man’s lips when they detach from each other.

Harry sighs in bliss, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against Louis’. 

“You’re so lovely,” he whispers, his green eyes flying all over Louis’ face, glazed over in awe. Louis blushes, smiling gently.

“You have parsley in your teeth,” Louis answers, his voice soft, and Harry groans and shakes his head, chuckling. Louis reaches blindly across the counter and feels around, until his hand comes across the box of toothpicks. He opens it and takes one out, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. Harry holds a hand out.

“No,” he says, leaning back, though he keeps a hand on Louis’ hip. Louis grins mischievously.

“Open up,” Louis sing-songs, stepping closer to Harry, the toothpick ready.

“Babe,” Harry begins, gently. “It’s fine, I think my teeth are clean.”

Louis rolls his eyes.

“Open up or I’m poking your eyes out.”

Harry, being the lovely little shit that he is, circles Louis’ wrist and pulls Louis against his body, kissing Louis’ nose. Then, he smiles, exaggerating it in such a way that Louis can see up close every single tooth Harry possesses. They’re clean now, Harry having managed to remove the leaf of parsley with his tongue. Louis pouts.

And Harry, the imbecile, bends down and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, tossing Louis over on his shoulder. Louis shrieks.

“Put me down, you caveman!”

Harry slaps his ass. Louis gasps and allows his fist to come down on Harry’s back. He kicks his legs back and forth, trying to score a goal straight into Harry’s balls. He almost manages but then Harry jostles him, slapping his left cheek even harder as he starts to make his way to his bedroom.

That’s a thing, now. Louis sleeping in Harry’s bed, he means. Usually, Harry comes over at his, but Louis has taken to staying at Harry’s much more now. Harry’s bed smells heavenly. It smells clean and like Harry, so of course Louis wants to spend as much time in it as possible. Louis relaxes and lets himself be carried to the bedroom, though he does push the toothpick into Harry’s arse, just for good measures.

Harry spanks him again, muttering _bad boy._ Blood rushes to Louis’ tiny cock, and he has to picture a naked Danny DeVito to calm himself down. 

“I’ll kill you,” Louis scoffs, squealing when Harry drops him onto the bed. He bounces slightly, and is about to complain when Harry drops to his knees and starts to unlace Louis’ shoes. Harry takes off each of Louis’ sneakers, then the socks, digging his thumbs in Louis’ soles. Louis wiggles his toes, trying to push his big toes where he knows one of Harry’s dimples appears whenever he’s smiling.

“Lovely,” Harry comments sarcastically, doing something immensely amazing with his fingers, making Louis moans. Harry’s fingers are magical.

“You don’t like smelly feet?” Louis teases, biting down on the toothpick that he’s put between his lips. Then he frowns. “No, scratch that, my feet do not smell.”

Harry snorts, his eyes twinkling in amusement. Louis pushes his leg forward until his right foot collides with Harry’s forehead. Harry’s long fingers circle around Louis’ thin and bony ankle, and he swiftly bends Louis’ leg up, crawling on top of the smaller body laid over the soft lavender duvet. 

Louis’ heart skips a bit as he looks up into Harry’s darkened eyes and feels the heat from the taller man’s body. The position they’re in leaves so much scope to the imagination, and Louis’ brain goes in all kinds of directions. If Harry leans down some more, his pelvis will press right against Louis’ hole, and it will be so, so easy for Harry to unzip his trousers and slowly enter—

Harry straightens up with a pained expression, his breath having gone quite laboured. He slowly lets go of Louis’ leg and stands up, passing a twitching hand through his curly hair.

Right. Louis forgot about Harry having to work late tonight, meaning they can’t have sex. Harry becomes useless after an orgasm (and so does Louis).

“I’m going to,” Louis says, breaking the silence first. He jerks his head towards the pillows as he crawls to the top of the bed, sliding his legs underneath the quilt. “Gonna nap for a bit.”

Harry smiles and nods, walking to him and pressing a kiss to Louis’ forehead. 

“See you, baby,” he whispers, giving Louis’ forehead another kiss before he makes his way out of the bedroom, slowly closing the door behind him.

Louis flops back onto the sweet-smelling pillow, the one he knows Harry sleeps on. Sleep always comes easily to him whenever he’s in Harry’s bed. He feels safe among Harry’s things and scent, and after closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing pattern, trying to even it out, he falls into a deep slumber.

  
  


-

  
  


When they finally go on a date, it doesn’t begin with a giant bouquet of roses, and it isn’t some kind of over-the-top, overly romantic proposal. Louis is munching on leftovers when he gets a message from Harry to dress up cosy and warm, and to be ready in thirty minutes.

When he adds that he’s taking Louis on a date, Louis nearly breaks his neck running to the bathroom to have a shower, and also almost dies in his haste to get inside his skin-tight jeans. He’s brushing his hair into submission while mentally cursing the shit out of Harry, because couldn’t that bloody fucker tell him to get ready at least _two_ hours before they are meant to meet up? Sighing, he puts on his cute spider-shaped gold earrings, and smooths over his pastel pink blouse. At least he looks cute, and he completes the look with a swipe of mascara over his eyelashes, blinking at his own reflection. He twirls and nods in satisfaction, and before putting on his boots he takes a quick photo (with his middle finger) and sends it to Zayn.

_You look good_

Of course he does. Louis rolls his eyes and types a _‘thank you zaynie’_ back, then he’s walking out of his bedroom and to where his shoes are stacked messily against the wall near the front door. He picks a dark brown pair of heeled-boots and has to sit down to get his toes inside the shoes, and he decides to stay on the ground until Harry comes to fetch him.

It doesn’t take long. Harry is punctual and three gentle knocks come raining on his door, and he’s slightly ashamed of how he shoots up to his feet and throws it open.

For a moment, neither of them speak. Harry looks dashing in his midnight blue jeans, worn-out boots, vintage shirt and thick leather jacket. His short curly hair is styled neatly on top of his head, but there are still stray baby curls here and there and Louis absolutely loves it. There’s uncertainty and excitement combined within Harry’s moss green eyes, and in his hands is a gorgeous bouquet of amaryllis flowers.

Louis feels himself colour up, delight lighting up his insides as Harry presents the bouquet to him. Louis takes it from him, his eyes going back and forth between Harry and the flowers. He’s not often impressed by romantic gestures, deeming them unoriginal most of the time even though he does love being doted on. He expected Harry to offer him flowers, but he expected _roses._ Roses, the flowers symbolizing love, and it’s not that he doesn’t like them but they are the kind of flowers anyone expects to receive on special occasions. 

Not amaryllises. And Louis loves the gesture. He absolutely adores it even.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling softly and bringing the soft petals to his nose and smelling their sweet fragrance. He spins around and goes to fetch a vase, a transparent one, and pours water in it and delicately places the flowers in a way that does justice to their beauty. Then, he brings it to the dining table and proudly displays it there.

“It looks lovely,” Harry smiles from the doorway, his soft eyes never leaving Louis.

“It does,” Louis answers, and they’re caught in the moment, happy to just look at each other and bath in the peace that’s slowly but surely settling between them.

Harry steps to the side and gestures to a random spot.

“Ready to go?”

Louis nods and glances around his flat one last time, then he pockets his phone and wallet and walks past Harry, locking the door.

  
  


-

  
  


“Absolutely _not,”_ Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall. He doesn’t exactly know where they are, but he can hear the gloomy music of the Halloween-themed park in the distance.

“Please, darling,” Harry begs, dragging out the ‘please’. 

“Don’t _‘darling’_ me,” Louis says without heat, glancing at a group of children laughing excitedly and pointing at the orangish light illuminating the sky. The park is so close, and they would already be there if Harry didn’t insist on Louis closing his eyes.

“It’s a surprise,” Harry tells him, putting his hand next to Louis’ head against the wall and ducking his head closer to Louis’ face. “Close your eyes for me.”

He smells so good it’s unfair. Gulping, Louis sighs and gives in, fluttering his eyes shut and shuddering when Harry takes his hands, gently prying him away from the wall. It’s weird to walk with his eyes closed in the streets, but he trusts Harry to guide him to safety. They don’t talk as they walk closer to the park, the noises coming from it growing louder and louder. Harry moves so that he’s walking closely behind Louis, his hands on Louis’ waist and his warm breath falling on the delicate uncovered patch of skin of the back of his neck, where his hair stops. Louis feels all warm inside despite the cold, both from Harry’s body heat merging with his own, and the hyper-awareness of Harry’s fingers on top of his coat, big enough to nearly cover his entire belly.

Louis wants to turn around, get Harry inside his bed and never come out of it.

There’s a willing and warm and handsome man right behind him, he can’t be blamed for his thoughts. He frowns when the hands on his waist momentarily disappear, gentle fingers brushing against his ears, then he feels a weight on his eyes.

“Just to be sure you don’t peek,” Harry whispers in his ear, and Louis replies by stepping back until his back is to Harry’s chest.

Somehow, Harry steps even closer, and even though it’s not easy to walk when they’re glued to one another, Louis will not have it any other way. At one point Harry trips on something and nearly sends them toppling over to the ground, but instead of getting mad Louis starts to giggle, turning into a full body-laugh when Harry’s loud, honky laugh echoes in his ears.

They calm down when the laughing, the screams, and the music are all that they can hear. Harry lowers his hands and it takes a few seconds for Louis’ eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, but when they do he has no choice but to gasp aloud.

As he has guessed already, it's an halloween-themed park, and a splendid one at that, in every single way. In the far distance there is a giant pumpkin carved out into a sordid face, and it glows so bright that one might almost feel like it’s day. Every once in a while, a loud and cruel laugh rises into the sky, sending the children into fits of laughter. They slowly enter the park, pausing only when Harry has to present their tickets. On either side of them, there are little trucks of food and candies, painted into monsters. It’s a bit as if they’ve appeared in a Middle Age witch town, and Louis watches, amazed, as people in gorgeous and spooky costumes walk among them, greeting the children in the scariest way possible. Little pumpkin lanterns that hang from the walls and the houses’ doors are overflowing with candies, cobwebs and bats and black cats are everywhere they look, and when Louis looks up, halloween-coloured chandeliers are illuminating their paths. Louis turns around to look at Harry, finding the curly-haired man already gazing at him.

“It’s,” he begins, laughing. “It’s wonderful, Haz.”

Harry beams at that, his eyes sparkling under the disco of light. With a decisive nod to himself, Harry enterwines their fingers.

“Is that okay?” he asks in a low voice, close enough for Louis to hear him over all the noises. Louis nods, biting his lips as a blush creeps up his chest to his cheeks. He’s glad for the orange nuances they’re bathing in. At least Harry can’t see him all flushed at such a simple contact.

The first thing they do is get black and orange candy floss. Louis claps his hands while Harry gets one for the two of them. The thing is so big that Harry wonders whether they will be able to even finish it, and Louis gives him a _what-do-you-think?_ look. Louis’ stomach is big enough to consume every last bit of candy floss in the country.

Harry is all too happy to let Louis have it all, and they get pumpkin-flavoured drinks with a kind-looking woman who smiles fondly when Louis asks for an extra pump of whipped cream.

“Here you go, love,” Harry says, passing over the drink with great care. 

“Thank you!” he exclaims happily, taking a big chunk of cotton candy and drinking on top of it a bit of the delicious drink.

“You sure do have a sweet tooth,” Harry tells him as they navigate through the crowd.

Louis smiles to himself. “Indeed, I do.”

“A little mouse told me that I’ll regret feeding you so much sugar,” Harry teases, putting his hand on Louis’ waist as they walk to the section of the park with all of the attractions. There are benches here and there, and they choose one to finish their goodies.

“So,” Louis begins as soon as they’re comfortably installed. “How did you find out about that park? I haven’t seen any flyers about it anywhere.”

Harry turns his upper body towards Louis, nipping on his straw. 

“My sister directed the event,” he explains, smiling proudly. “She does that for a living; she loves organizing events of any kind. She has been talking my ears off about this park for months, and there has been quite a lot of advertising for it, you just probably missed it.”

Louis nods, waving the thin candy floss stick around and licking the remaining sugary bits. When he glances at Harry, he sees that Harry’s eyes are focused on his mouth, and he doesn’t know what comes over him but he starts to slowly put the tip of the wooden stick in between his lips, sucking the end of it and glancing underneath his eyelashes. Harry’s mouth slightly drops open, and his eyes darken in such a way that Louis feels arousal slowly pours itself in his lower belly with for sole goal his dick. 

Harry clears his throat and straightens up, a smirk on his red lips.

“There’s this attraction I’ve been dying to do,” he says, standing up and finishing up his drink. “Up for it?”

Louis doesn’t miss how Harry has to tuck down his shirt over his crotch, and a smug smile makes its way onto Louis’ face. He throws the empty drink and wooden stick away, stepping closer to Harry.

“Let’s go,” he says in his most seductive voice, then he starts to walk, Harry hurrying after him with a soft, frustrated groan.

  
  


-

  
  


Louis is going to kill Harry. He doesn’t know when, but one way or another he’s going to.

“We have to go for the _very scary_ door!” he screams, pointing at the wooden door with ‘very scary’ written in blood red across it. “Haven’t you seen _It_?”

Harry rubs his temple, biting his lips as his eyes fly over the three different doors. 

“I’m telling you,” he says calmly, taking fake cobwebs out of his hair. “We have to go for the _not scary at all_ door! They expect you to think that the very scary door is not the scary one!”

Louis is going to kiss Harry. Then kill him. But also kiss him because he looks particularly hot with his cheeks flushed, his hair all over the place and beads of sweat dripping down the side of his face. He’s not sure how to feel about wanting to simultaneously kiss and kill someone, but right now this is happening.

That and the dilemma they’ve gotten themselves into. He can’t willingly believe how naive Harry is.

“We. Are. Going. Through. That. Door. Period,” he says, taking a step closer to the ‘very scary’ door. He hears Harry sigh, but other than that Harry doesn’t say anything and decides to obediently follow Louis. Louis takes a deep breath, his fingers on the door handle, and he slowly twists it open, pausing.

“You go first,” he says timidly, smiling sweetly over at Harry who shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. 

“Not so sure, huh?” he mutters while taking a step inside. When nothing happens, Louis also enters the dark well, the door slowly locking itself behind him. They’re in complete darkness, and Louis tucks himself against Harry, taking Harry’s hand in his own.

“If this doesn’t go as planned,” Louis whispers, squinting at the gloom. He can’t believe he willingly went into the horror house. “I want the blame to fall on you.”

“Sure thing,” Harry replies, walking further forward until bright purple light goes off and the horrendous face of _It_ the clown welcomes them. Louis screams, hiding his face in Harry’s chest and fighting cobwebs as they walk straight into them. Harry isn’t screaming, but he’s breathing harshly, grabbing onto Louis’ waist for dear life.

It’s the fucking cherry on top when out of the blue, the ground opens from underneath them and they fall into nothingness. Louis is sure he’s screaming loud enough for even the dead to stir, and he can feel the panic really settle in when he realizes Harry’s hands aren’t on him anymore. He can hear Harry, who is also mumbling all kinds of nonsense as they fall, but it’s not enough to soothe his nerves. They end up falling onto something big and soft, but then whatever is underneath them moves and the platform they’ve fallen onto lights up to reveal… cockroaches. Louis screams, tears coming to his eyes. There aren’t actual cockroaches on him, he realizes in relief after brushing his clothes with his hands, but it felt like he did when he was lying down. He looks around, shouting out Harry’s name, and after a while he’s answered.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Harry frantically says, grabbing Louis’ wrist and pulling Louis into his chest. “What the bloody fuck.”

Louis agrees. That most likely was the scariest and most traumatizing moment of his entire life, and he had once walked on Zayn having a go with some random bloke on his couch, so that’s saying something. He hangs onto Harry’s jacket like some kind of damsel in distress, letting himself be guided off the cushioned platform they landed on and purposely closing his eyes all the while, not ready for any other scare. 

After being attacked by a zombie nun, a human-sized doll, a lunatic with a chainsaw, clowns with gaping bloodied mouths and other scary things he'd rather forget the existence of, he doesn’t have the guts to open his eyes, he just wants to come out and do something to bring his sanity back. He can tell they’re getting closer to the exit door, but just before they can get to it something pops in front of them and Louis does the only thing he can think of.

He throws his fist forward and it collides with something that quite literally breaks.

 _“Shit,”_ he curses, fisting Harry’s shirt and dragging both of them to the door, which he throws open with a relieved sigh.

Harry’s big body brackets his, and Louis closes his eyes as the sweet cool air of the night caresses his skin. It contrasts beautifully with the heat that’s coming from Harry’s chest, and he manages to relax when Harry puts his long arms around Louis’ body, tucking him closer.

“Next time,” Harry says, still panting from running all over that cursed house. “We’ll go for the _not scary_ door.”

Louis’ shoulders jerk from the sudden laugh that spills out of his mouth. “There _won’t_ be another time.”

Two things happen, then. First, Harry freezes and slowly lets go of Louis, straightening up with a blank expression. Then, he’s passing his hand through his hair and looking down, a frown gradually appearing on his flushed face.

“Oh,” he lets out, sounding so defeated Louis finds himself blinking in confusion. “Yeah, um.”

What the fuck. Louis frowns and steps closer to Harry, but Harry only smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I thought it’d be fun,” Harry begins, grimacing. “I guess it wasn’t very date-material. I’m sorry, Louis.”

It doesn’t click at first, but when it does Louis shakes his head and softens. He walks to Harry and puts his arms around Harry’s waist, resting his head against Harry’s chest, where his heart is beating.

“I didn’t mean there won’t be a next date, Haz,” he begins, looking up. “I meant that next time we won’t go into a haunted house. I don’t think my poor heart will be able to bear it.”

He physically feels Harry relax, and tentatively Harry’s arms finally come back where Louis has decided they belong, that is to say around his body. They cuddle for a while without saying anything, as if frozen in time as all around them people are bursting with happiness and completely caught into the frenzy of the park.

“So, it wasn’t bad?” Harry asks at last, pressing his smile into Louis’ hair. Louis scrunches up his nose in fondness, muttering against Harry’s torso.

“Harry, this is the best date I’ve ever been on, blood-thirsty dolls aside,” he simultaneously teases and admits, humming when Harry rubs his back gently, long and capable fingers handling him with a care that he didn’t know Harry possessed. 

Harry’s hand comes up to cradle his cheeks, and Louis watches as Harry’s eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips, back and forth. There’s want and restraint battling in his irises, a divine spectacle that Louis is lucky enough to witness. Louis nods imperceptibly, and he closes his eyes as Harry leans closer.

Their lips meet, and time stops.

Louis doesn’t want to sound like a cliché, but he feels sparks ignite within him. Harry’s lips are soft and plush, and the growing hair around his mouth tickle Louis’ lips as their mouths move against one another. It doesn’t hurt, but rather, it adds to the kiss, spices it up in ways he hasn’t expected. Louis loves that Harry’s taller than him and he has to be on his tip-toes to be able to reach him, loves that Harry’s arms are holding him close to Harry’s body, loves that he feels secure and safe.

Their lips detach, then Harry presses one last peck to Louis’ lips, their noses brushing against one another.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss that bratty mouth of yours since you opened your door,” Harry whispers, a smile on his face. "Figured I'd play nice and at least wait until the end of our date. Can't wait anymore, though," he adds, and Louis’ face scrunches up as he laughs, shaking his head.

“Nothing was holding you back,” Louis says, raising an eyebrow and blushing when Harry captures his lips once again, seemingly unable to resist the temptation.

“True that,” Harry replies once their lips are not stuck to one another, and Harry, with his arm around Louis’ waist, guides them farther away from the haunted house to a stand of hot-dogs. The truck is painted in black and orange, with a pinch of purple and a cartoonish hot-dog dressed up as a witch drawn on the side. 

Harry gets them steaming hot-dogs full of sauce that ends up on the tip of Louis’ nose. Louis is not ready when Harry uses his thumb to pick up the yellowish greasy chunky liquid, and he’s also not ready when Harry licks the digit.

Louis finds himself thinking about how wonderful Harry is to him. Harry has been giving him every inch of attention he needs, without being asked to, without being made to. Louis has been able to truly enjoy the night, which is a first in the history of his dates. He feels important and wanted, and most importantly, he feels understood.

Smiling softly to himself, Louis walks closer to Harry, eating the last bit of his hot-dog. Despite Louis’ greasy fingers, Harry instantly intertwines their hands together, their arms swinging gently as they walk through the park. 

“Look,” Harry says then, pointing at a shooting gallery game. Harry’s eyes light up as he tugs Louis towards it. “I’ll win you a plushie.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, smiling happily. “Yeah? Well good luck!”

“Just watch!” Harry tells him while paying for a round and grabbing the fake rifle. He tests its weight and gets in position, while Louis stands next to him, his arms crossed over his chest. There’s a blush high up on his cheeks, pleased that Harry wants to win a plush toy for him. It’s such an innocent thing, really, but Louis never had someone do that for him, and it’s… it’s so good.

“You can do it,” Louis says, probably too low for Harry to hear him, but the sentiment is there. Harry takes a breath and once he exhales, he shoots, and manages to touch the first target. Louis claps, bouncing on his tip-toes in excitement. 

Harry doesn’t get it the first time; he misses a shot, and groaning he pays for another round and squares his shoulders with intent, his sharp eyes trailed on the targets. He looks hot like that, his face sets in a determined and focused expression. The rifle looks so small in his big hands, and Louis is so dazed by the sight that it takes him a while to register that Harry has won and has pulled Louis into his arms.

“You choose,” Harry says, gesturing at the panoply of stuffed toys. Louis bites his lips and steps closer to the shelves, his eyes flying over the stuffed pumpkins, bats, ghosts, black cats and witch wands. Most of them look soft and absolutely adorable, but one catches his eyes. It’s a tiny black cat plush toy with a pumpkin hat that he _must_ have, and he gingerly points at it, the man that supervises the game handing it over.

Louis shows off the toy to Harry then cuddles it close to his chest. “That’s Calanthe!”

Harry looks at the little cat toy, smiling fondly. 

“Nice to meet you, Calanthe Junior.”

Louis wants to kiss Harry. For a moment, he’s content to just look at the man, but then it clicks that he _can._ He can kiss Harry as much as he wants, there’s nothing stopping him from doing so, they’ve already kissed in public. He can do it. Grinning to himself, Louis stands on his tip-toes, puts his hands around Harry’s neck and kisses him. When their tongues meet, butterflies go absolutely berserk in Louis’ lower belly, making him turn breathless only a few seconds into the kiss. When they detach, Harry rests his forehead against his, a blissed out smile making his dimples appear on either side of his mouth.

“What was that for?” he asks, immediately dipping down to press a gentle kiss against Louis’ lips.

He shrugs, trying hard to hold in his giggle. “Just wanted to.”

Harry rubs his nose against Louis’, then kisses Louis’ forehead. It’s then that the smaller man yawns, hiding his face in Harry’s chest, making Harry chuckle.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” Harry says, the words flying into the frozen air and following after them as they slowly, but steadily, make their way out of the park and back _‘home’_ , a word that rings beautifully on both tongues. 

  
  


-

  
  


There isn’t a single ray of moonlight filtering through the window of the corridor, but the sheer glow of the night is enough for Louis to see the contours of Harry’s face as they stand facing each other, in front of Louis’ door. It seems to be a particularly important place for them, Louis muses. He first met Harry at this very same doorway, and it has seen so much ever since. Louis leans against the hard surface of the wooden door, biting his lips, ignoring the stubborn flutter in his lower belly as Harry instantly takes a step forward, as if naturally drawn to Louis’ pull, a bit like a moth and a flame.

It’s probably ironic. Because Louis feels like he’s the moth, and Harry is the flame, constantly flickering, threatening to go out at any given time and Louis is that winged little soul doing everything in its small-spanned power to keep that flame alive, to keep that source of warm going, hoping to never ever see darkness.

Louis doesn’t want the light to go out. There’s dread slowly filling him up alongside the fading ecstasy he felt throughout the night, and wordlessly, Louis fists the front of Harry’s shirt and pulls him into a hug. The embrace holds so many unspoken words, but the thing is, Louis can’t tell whether they’re one sided or not. He’s tongue-tied, unable to mutter even the tiniest sound, so he allows himself one last fantasy, one last pleasure before it’s all gone. He tilts his head and kisses the rough skin that he can reach, which turns out to be Harry’s stubbly jaw. He’s never been all that fond about hair, always found it particularly irritating on a face, but he just… he adores it on Harry.

Harry has changed a lot of things in Louis’ life. While Louis is a troublemaker, in the literal sense of the term, Harry, in a way, has been putting everything within Louis upside down, making a much bigger mess there than Louis will ever be able to. 

Louis is used to deception. He’s used to men getting tired of him, cursing him of all kinds of names because _dear god, you’re so fucking annoying._ He’s not sure he’s had anyone in his life longer than three months. No one has understood him enough to know that Louis is a rounded character, that there are several layers to his personality, that he can be loud and bratty and a big tease but also soft and vulnerable and emotional. Harry has been the only one in all those years to truly see through him.

To not give up on him.

“Alright?” Harry asks him, leaning back slightly, searching Louis’ eyes. When green meets blue, all Louis can see within Harry’s irises is care, fondness, and something that might be… that might be love.

Louis is going crazy.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he chuckles awkwardly, stepping back and glancing for a few seconds down then back into Harry’s face. “I truly enjoyed tonight.”

“Me too.” Harry grins at him, inclining his head so he can kiss Louis’ forehead. His lips linger there, full of promises that Louis has yet to know about. “Until next time, baby.”

He blushes at the pet name and nods, flushing even more when Harry rubs his rosy cheeks, his expression one of awe. Then, seemingly pained, Harry steps back and turns around, his boots clicking on the ground as he walks away to his own flat. Before going up the stairs, Harry glances one last time over his shoulder, giving Louis a small but reassuring smile, then he disappears. Only the echo of his footsteps remain. 

Rushing inside his flat, heart in his throat, his fingers shake in uncontained excitement. He smiles to himself as he looks at the bouquet of amaryllises.

While roses symbolize love and beauty, amaryllises embody adoration and dedication, and to Louis, this is the most sincere and thoughtful anyone has ever been with him.

  
  


**

Louis gets what he wants doing what he knows best; unashamedly asking for the thing he wants. Most of the time, it works, the other times not so much. Harry has dragged him down to the grocery store, and it’s eight in the morning and Louis woke up in Harry’s bed feeling soft kisses being pressed to his forehead. While the gesture had been sweet and had made electricity course through his veins, being woken up at crack-ass o’clock (yes, eight in the morning on a Sunday is ridiculously early) didn’t sit well with him. Moreover, he didn’t even get to cream over Harry’s cock, no matter how many times he’s asked. Harry was adamant on not getting side-tracked, much to Louis’ chagrin. So he’s made sure to complain from the second his eyes fluttered open.

“I am _tired,”_ Louis whines, again, tugging at Harry’s shirt as Harry pushes the trolley down the cereal aisle, grabbing several boxes of Coco Pops since they’ve run out. 

Harry sighs, shaking a box in front of Louis’ face, hoping to bribe Louis into shutting up. No such luck. Louis whines even louder.

“Just need some more stuff then we’re good, love, ok?” Harry says, crossing out ‘tomatoes’ as he drops a bag full of them in the trolley.

“Hurry up,” Louis sing-songs, biting his lips. It’s then that he decides to ask for what he wants, which is to have Harry, naked and sweating, in his bed. “I want to make babies.”

Harry stops in the middle of the sauce aisle, blinking at Louis in surprise.

“You want babies,” Harry parrots, frowning when Louis hums.

“Yes, and more precisely I want _your_ babies, if you know what I mean,” Louis teases, stepping closer to Harry and trailing his forefinger across the hair dusting the taller man’s chest.

Harry’s eyes darken, and his hands come up to rest on Louis’ waist.

“Not sure that’s how it works, baby,” Harry whispers, his eyes going between Louis’ eyes and his lips. Louis licks them then, making them shine with his saliva.

“I’m highly fertile,” Louis breathes, his face ridiculously close to Harry’s. Harry’s grip tightens on him, and it sends his heart into a frantic rhythm. He’s so _horny._

“Are you sure?” 

Despite the desire that’s burning so fiercely within Harry’s irises, there’s still uncertainty, and Louis’ inner-self dances knowing that Harry cares first and foremost about _him_. Harry’s ready to put his needs in the background, focusing solely on Louis, as if nothing else mattered but Louis and his needs. No one has ever done that for him. And it’s sweet, but god, Louis just wants to have Harry’s cock up his ass.

“Yes,” Louis says, desperation clawing at his voice. “Yes, Harry, _yes,_ oh my God.”

Harry nods, his expression focused and hungry. He acts almost feral as he pushes the trolley to checkout, one of his hands never leaving Louis, and Louis smirks to himself when he sees that there are six more items on the grocery list, but that Harry is so desperate to get home that he doesn’t care.

The girl behind the counter eyes them suspiciously as she scans the articles, frowning at Harry’s incessant finger drumming. Then Harry’s eyes go wide.

“Hold on a second, please,” he says, kissing Louis’ forehead and stalking through the supermarket, leaving Louis alone in front of a bewildered girl. Louis chuckles nervously, flushing.

He can’t fucking believe Harry’s acting that way because of him. He feels powerful and so utterly desired, and it’s such an amazing feeling.

Harry comes back, apologizing to an old lady as he walks quickly past her. He then throws among the items a black box, and Louis has to bite his lips to hold back the laughter that threatens to spill out.

It’s a box of condoms.

The girl is now as red as the tomatoes she’s scanning, and Harry grins at her, quickly gathering all the items into a bag. Then, he takes Louis’ hand and nods at the girl’s _'_ _have a nice day’._ Louis kisses Harry’s shoulder, tightening his hand around Harry's bigger fingers, anticipation building in his lower belly as they exit the supermarket and begin to walk to their building.

  
  


-

  
  


Harry’s fingers shake as he tries to insert his key within the keyhole, and Louis gently puts his hand over Harry’s, taking the silver key and opening the door himself. Harry drops the heavy and full bag of groceries into the kitchen and turns towards him, and he can tell that Harry’s holding back from jumping on him. Louis smirks as, slowly, he approaches Harry, and once they’re close enough he cups Harry’s cheeks, going on his tiptoes. He caresses Harry’s scratchy skin with his thumbs, setting his fond eyes on Harry. When he kisses him, he wants to convey just how much he loves him, just how much he’s glad that Harry didn’t give up on him.

It isn’t too early to define what he is feeling as _love,_ but it’s getting stuck in his throat, and it will come out sooner than later, Louis’ sure of it. It’s resting just below the surface, waiting to break free, and though it’s trapped, it is there, waiting and waiting and _waiting._

Harry kisses back with just as much passion, his big hands cradling Louis’ waist with so much care it’s as if Louis were some kind of priceless diamond. Louis feels everything as Harry guides them to his bedroom, and he feels even more as Harry takes his clothes off, caressing his skin with trembling fingers.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispers, his eyes drinking in the spectacular sight that is Louis naked among his sheets. Louis blushes under the attention, his fingers closing in on themselves in fists, the soft fabric underneath him trapped within them. His body jumps as Harry traces his fingers around his nipples, making them perk up and making goosebumps chronically go through his body. It’s so much better being touched by Harry, so much better than in his dreams, than his own fingers. Harry’s touch isn’t empty, but instead it’s filled with passion and reverence.

Louis lets his legs fall open, exposing his most private part to Harry’s starved eyes. Harry slowly caresses his rim, and Louis’ breath hitches as Harry bends down and presses a lingering kiss _there._ It’s a simple touch, but it’s so erotic and makes Louis’ toes curl.

Harry takes his time unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off and letting it fall at the foot of the bed. His tattoos are on display, and Louis wants to trace the shape of them with his tongue (even if he’s done it several times before), kiss the moth on Harry’s stomach or the sparrows on either side of his pecs. His mouth waters as Harry unbuttons his jeans, standing up to remove them along his underwear. Instantly, his hard and long length springs up, needing attention and Louis gasps, imagining it splitting him open.

 _“Harry,”_ he manages to get out shakily, his eyes watering under the amount of need that overtakes him. He wants to swallow Harry down, lick the impressive cock from head to balls, showers it with love. In a split second Harry is on him, his mouth against Louis’.

Their kisses turn dirty quickly, tongues dancing with one another. Saliva frosts in the corner of their lips, their chins glistening under the faint light of the day. Feeling Harry’s skin against his own is heaven, and Louis chases Harry’s lips as Harry leans back, his hand coming up to cradle Louis’ cheek, his thumb caressing Louis’ wet bottom lip.

“You’re lovely,” Harry says, his eyes dark. “I want to shower you with my affection, I want you to know how much—,” he stops, gulping, overwhelmed. “How much you mean to me.”

Louis smiles, his eyes crinkling. He can’t talk right now, emotions clogging up his throat, so he cradles the back of Harry's neck and brings their lips together again, every stroke of the tongue making up for the words he can’t utter.

Harry must understand him, because then he stalks down, his hands circling Louis’ thighs, pushing them apart. Then he dives in, his tongue meeting Louis’ rim and Louis positively _screams,_ his body jerking in pleasure as Harry dives his tongue inside of him, twirling it around, stroking Louis’ walls with ardour. He slides his lubed up fingers — when did he get the lube? Louis can’t think — alongside his tongue, fucking them in and out, teasing Louis by avoiding his sweet spot. It drives Louis mad with arousal, and he digs his toes in the small of Harry’s back, urging him to do something, but Harry takes his sweet time opening him up.

When he glances down he sees that Harry’s eyes are closed, enjoying himself and absorbing the taste of him completely. Louis’ hand flies into Harry’s hair, tugging and making a mess out of it, and Harry must like it because he hums against his hole, making vibrations travel through Louis’ walls. It’s so good and it’s not enough at the same time, and it’s driving him wild. 

“Harry, _please,”_ he begs, simultaneously wishing that Harry would stop and fuck him while also pushing Harry’s face closer to his wet and ready hole. 

Harry stops sucking on his rim, a thin line of saliva attaching his lips to the rosy bud. The sight makes Louis’ little cock jerks, blood rushing to it even more. Smirking, Harry straightens up and grabs the bottle of lube, pouring the clear liquid on his length. Then, with his long fingers, he starts to jerk himself, moaning as his eyes remain focused on Louis. Harry slides on a condom, and Louis is slightly disappointed that he won’t be able to feel Harry’s come inside of him, but he knows it’s necessary. Next time, hopefully, they won’t need any protection. Watching Harry pleasure himself is something Louis wants to tattoo in his brain, but he also wants Harry to get on with it and fuck him, making him come apart on his big cock. He makes grabby hands for his lover, whining, and with a fond chuckle Harry covers Louis’ body once more, and slowly, but oh so deliciously, enters Louis.

When he bottoms out, Louis lets out a shuddery breath, closing his eyes as he basks in the feeling of fullness. Harry drops kisses all over his face, making Louis smile then he starts to move, his cock dragging in and out of Louis, his balls slapping against Louis’ ass as he picks up an unrelenting rhythm. It’s bliss, it’s amazing, it’s everything Louis has ever wanted, his body warm and overwhelmed with pleasure, the body on top of him filling him up in the very best way. 

But more than the feeling that comes with being so full, it’s the fact he’s being taken care of by someone that he trusts. Someone that he feels safe with, and someone that he knows cares about him.

“So good,” Harry mumbles against his skin, his tongue licking up the side of Louis’ throat, tasting the sweet skin. “So good for me.”

Louis positively glows under the compliment, moving his hips to meet Harry’s thrusts. He feels a tug in his lower belly, bordering on too much, and he comes with a shout, his fingernails scratching down Harry’s back, sure to leave marks behind, memories of what has occurred between them. Harry is quick to follow, his hips jerking unevenly until hot cum fills the condom. Harry doesn’t pull out right away, and they breath in each other's mouth, sweaty and flushed and sated.

When Harry does pull out, Louis winces at the sudden empty feeling, and he waits as Harry gathers his shirt and wipes Louis clean. 

“Gotta do laundry tomorrow,” Harry says to himself, Louis humming half-heartedly as he drags his body up, letting his head fall against the pillow. His body feels heavy, ready to go to sleep, but it holds on until Harry takes his rightful place behind Louis, his arm circling the lean waist, holding the smaller body against his own. They work on evening out their breathing together, Harry’s chest pressed against Louis’ back, and Harry’s warm breath keeps falling upon the bruised skin of Louis’ neck, making agreeable shivers travel down Louis’ spine. Kissing Louis’ shoulder, Harry begins to quiet down, until all Louis can hear is puffs of sleep-induced breath.

For a while, Louis stays awake, caught among bliss and happiness. He tightens his hand over Harry’s, and when he finally succumbs to sleep, he repeats the words that keep going around his brain, words that he knows won’t fall from his lips anytime soon.

_I love you._

  
  


-

  
  


Louis is mentally cursing Harry as he drags the basket full of dirty clothes. More precisely, Harry’s and his own dirty clothes, and he has to resist the urge to abandon the damned basket in the middle of the corridor and walks back to Harry’s flat to curse the shit out of him.

He hates doing laundry. That’s something he’s established a while ago, and something Harry has been all too happy doing for him. But waking up this morning lead to Harry being all sweet and asking him to go do the laundry, because _“Sweetheart, I have work stuff to do,”_ and Louis would have refused had Harry not kissed him stupid before practically shoving him through the door with the heavy basket. Now, Louis is doomed to dragging the basket down to the utility room, in pyjamas and ladybug slippers, and he nearly breaks his neck in the stairs.

Louis is going to kill Harry. And he’s going to carry through the threat, this time.

Louis pushes open the door with his hip, swinging the basket in the process, the weight of it dragging him forward. He sighs and makes a beeline for the usual washing machine he (or rather Harry) uses, grabbing the bottle of detergent and twisting it open aggressively.

It’s when he’s about to pour the liquid in that he spots a green-coloured square of paper stuck to the top of the machine, and frowning, Louis grabs it, his eyes scanning its surface.

When he registers what’s written on it, he gasps, the bottle of detergent dropping from his hands and falling to the floor, spilling absolutely everywhere. He can’t bring himself to care, though. His heart starts to beat unnaturally fast, and he’s half-scared it’s going to pop out of his rib cage and dance the zumba on the sticky ground.

_Will you be my boyfriend? - your favourite laundry destroyer_

Louis hears a sigh and he spins around, big blue eyes blinking in disbelief as he spots Harry, who is leaning against the wall, a giant bouquet of amaryllises in his hands.

“Who’s going to clean that?” Harry says, shaking his head in faux-annoyance, fondness written all over his face.

Louis can’t fucking process anything. Harry is asking Louis to be his boyfriend in the utility room. Louis wants to grab the half-empty bottle of laundry detergent and hurl it at Harry’s head because what the fuck this is so _not_ romantic, but deep down he absolutely adores it. He looks around himself, tearing up.

He nods as a loud sob escapes his lips, and Harry is on him in an instant, taking him in his strong arms. Harry hugs him tight, kissing the top of his head repeatedly. The flowers tickle Louis’ side, making him laugh through his tears, and he pushes his face deeper against Harry’s chest, listening to the heartbeat there and allowing it to calm him down. When he feels like he can talk, he leans back slightly, looking up into Harry’s face.

“Yes,” he says, hiccuping. Harry scrunches his nose up, trying to keep down his own happiness, his eyes slightly wet. Louis continues. “Yes, yes yes _yes,_ I’ll be your boyfriend.”

When their lips meet, Louis swears birds are singing for them, and the sun makes its way through the thick clouds to greet them. Louis laughs again, taking the gorgeous bouquet from Harry and burying his nose into their soft, sweet-smelling petals. When the hell did Harry get these, he has no idea, but he’s so happy.

Smiling to himself, Louis looks at his _boyfriend_ (he’ll never get tired of saying that) from underneath his eyelashes, knowing just how pretty he looks.

“Can you do the laundry?” Louis asks in his sweetest voice, cuddling the flowers to his chest.

Harry smiles and rolls his eyes, dropping a kiss on Louis’ forehead.

“Yes, baby,” he responds, and on that, Louis turns around and makes a dash for the stairs, his bubbly laughter echoing throughout the building. He can practically hear Harry groan at the prospect of cleaning up the sticky liquid on the utility floor, and while Louis giggles in the amaryllises, he decides to bake some pancakes for Harry. He figures that’s the least he can do for his _boyfriend._

Repeating the word in his head is so wonderful, especially since he’s using it to refer to his Harry. When he breaks the news to Zayn, he can’t even find it in himself to be angry at the _I told you so_ his best friend makes sure to send at least a hundred times.

Laundry isn’t so bad, in the end.

**EPILOGUE**

**8 months later.**

“Careful!” Louis shouts, as he watches Cerberus run around the garden, a bright red ball in his mouth. He drops it and barks, asking for Louis to join him, but the blue-eyed boy shakes his head and focuses back on the canvas in front of him. He dips his brush in white liquid, and carefully presses it against the dark layer of paint he put earlier on the canvas.

He takes a sip of tea, and smiles against the cup as two familiar arms circle his waist, and a kiss is dropped on top of his head.

“Alright?” Harry hums, tenderly rocking them left to right.

Louis grins, looking up from underneath his eyelashes. “Cerberus wants to play, again.”

Harry sighs and drops a kiss on Louis’ lips, before opening the bay window, whistling to get Cerberus’ attention. Louis smiles fondly and watches his boyfriend play with their dog for several minutes, before going back to painting. From the corner of his eyes, he spots the basket of clean clothes that Harry left to go outside. He shrugs and mentally notes to take care of it after he’s done painting a particularly challenging part of his painting.

He’s adding spots of black when Calanthe strolls in the living room, meowing. She jumps on the couch and practically glares at everything, and Louis giggles as he stands up and drops a kiss to her head. She simultaneously leans into the touch, but also uses her front paw to bat Louis’ face away. _What a fucking brat,_ he thinks with a soft smile.

He watches outside as Harry collapses on the grass, Cerberus barking and jumping around his tired boyfriend. He scrunches up his nose as Cerberus starts making his way to the house.

“Haz!” he calls out, making Harry straighten up. “Wash Cerberus before he enters the house, babe!”

Harry gives him a thumbs-up, and satisfied, Louis goes back to his painting. He’s so engrossed in it that he doesn’t notice Cerberus ducking underneath Harry’s arm, freeing himself seconds before the stream of water touches him. When he tears his attention away from the canvas, and looks up, it’s to find a very happy, very dirty white dog rushing through the bay window and straight into the basket of clean clothes.

Louis’ eyes widen. “Cerberus!” he shouts, rushing to the big white dog and trying to pull him away from the fresh batch of clean clothes, but it’s too late, and when Louis glances down, there are paw-shaped muddy prints all over their clothes. Harry comes up behind him a few seconds later, looking livid. He crouches down next to Cerberus, a frown on his face.

“Bad dog,” he groans, coaxing Cerberus away, giving Louis the opportunity to sort through the clothes, pushing to the side the clean ones and putting back in the basket those who need to be re-washed.

Calanthe cautiously approaches one of Louis’ silk tops, but she doesn’t touch it. Instead, she licks her paw and meows, and upon hearing her Cerberus snaps his head towards the black cat and runs to her. She doesn’t even flinch as the big white dog drops on his belly behind her, panting in her ears. She simply puts her paw on Cerberus’ muzzle, and Louis finds it amusing how Cerberus calms right away.

Harry huffs and pouts as he hoists the basket up. Louis coos and goes on his tip-toes to drop a kiss on Harry’s pouty lips, which earns him a dimpled smile in return. 

“I’m gonna drop this in the machine real quick,” he mumbles against Louis’ lips. “I love you.”

Before Louis can respond, Harry is out of the door. He chuckles and sighs, playing with the thin necklace Harry gifted him on their fourth date. It’s a lovely symbol made out of their initials; H and L. He skips to the stool facing his canvas, and glances at his pets, only to find Calanthe stretched out on Cerberus’ back, black fur mixing up with white. Louis can’t even find it in himself to remain mad at Cerberus, and instead he picks up his brush and goes back to painting.

He finishes the painting several minutes later, adding one last detail. Harry has already told him he wants the painting hung up next to the front door, and Louis thinks it’s the perfect spot. It dries completely just as Harry comes back, but this time with a clean basket that he takes to their bedroom straight away.

Louis hums and picks up the canvas, turning it around so it’s facing both Calanthe and Cerberus.

“What do you guys think?” he asks, voice gentle. Calanthe purrs her agreement, and Cerberus does what Cerberus does best; he pants, his tongue hanging out, and licks Calanthe’s cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3


End file.
